There's More Room In A Broken Heart
by Severus redeemed
Summary: Harry is almost 9 when he is rescued & taken to Hogwarts by Severus Snape. Despite his intentions to have nothing more to do with the child, Snape finds himself unable to resist Lily's child, as they both discover that broken hearts can hold more love.
1. 1 : Of Questions Best Left Unasked

Chapter 1 : Of Questions Best Left Unasked

If it hadn't been raining that afternoon, he would never have asked himself the question. And his life would have continued along it's weary path to a lonely & bitter old age. But it was raining, in fact it had been raining now for 5 days straight, so why was the child outside in this weather, hunched up beside the flower bed, digging up weeds, and where the blazes was his coat? Such a simple, logical question, but one whose answer would turn out to have such far-reaching consequences for so many people, not least the dark-visaged man sheltering under the oak tree on the corner of Privet Drive that wet August Bank Holiday Monday.

It had taken that devious old man's most persuasive smile, accompanied by the longest silence in history, to convince him to make the journey to Surrey that day. He had at least 1000 other things to do before term began, and wasting an entire afternoon (or even half an hour) checking up on the Brat Who Lived was positively the last thing he wished to do. This was all Mundungus Fletcher's fault! If he hadn't chosen today of all days to get arrested for accidentally blowing up the Minister's mother-in-law.....well, that was a story for another day and, as his mother was fond of saying "If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there'd be no need of tinkers".

So, despite his own personal feelings about the unnecessary nature of this task, here he was, in Little Whinging, checking to ensure that Little Prince Potter was being loved, cherished and no doubt spoiled beyond all bearing by his angular Aunt Petunia and her corpulent husband, Vernon Dursley.

However, the child he had been watching for the past half hour, as the rain slowly soaked through his long black robe, bore an uncanny resemblance not to the pampered prince he has expecting, but to a long-forgotten child whose family had provided more kicks than kisses. In short, this child reminded him painfully of himself at the same age, cold and tired, and no doubt hungry too, but afraid to go inside and leave his allotted task uncompleted.

But how could this be? What possible resemblance could there be between Harry James Potter, boy hero of the wizarding world and vanquisher of the Dark Lord, and Severus Tobias Snape, Hogwarts' hated & despised Potions Master, one-time follower of the Dark Lord & betrayer of all he had once held sacred. A betrayal brought about at such personal cost, to save the life of this very child, who now crouched shivering in the mud, trying vainly to wipe away a combination of rain, mucus & silent tears from his pale, thin little face. A face marred by the famous lightening-shaped scar which led from just above his left eye across the left side of his forehead. Had it not been for that tell-tale scar, and the mess of black hair that spoke so strongly of his paternal heritage, Snape might have been forgiven for refusing to believe that this mud-spattered boy was indeed the famous Harry Potter. And yet it really was the child he sought, and one glance had been enough to tell Snape that something was horribly wrong here in suburban Surrey.

So why did he not make a move? Why not approach the child and ask his question? Was it because he knew what the answer would be? That the truth, once finally confirmed, would forever shatter the cold comfort he had so desperately clung to in the guilt-ridden months and years since that terrible night in Godric's Hollow. Since his own weakness in the face of unendurable agony, his own failure to stand against the power of the Dark One, had cost the lives of this innocent child's parents, delivering him into the hands of his "loving" aunt & uncle.

Finally, with a heavy sense of foreboding, Snape took the short walk that led him from the relative comfort of his oak tree and his as yet half-formed suspicions, to stand at the child's side, squarely facing the crushing reality of his pitiful existence, and ask the fateful question ......

"Are you alright, child?"........

END OF CHAPTER ONE


	2. 2 : The Pampered Prince

Chapter 2 : The Pampered Prince?

He was cold and wet. Not that this was a new experience for the child - after all, he would be 9 years old in a matter of days now, and in the years he had lived at Number 4 Privet Drive there had so many days like today that he sometimes forgot what it was like to be warm and dry. Tears were an unusual reaction. Tears were a sign of weakness that let them know they were hurting you. Tears were for babies, not big boys of nearly 9. Tears were a wicked attempt to get attention by unpleasant children who were most definitely not going to like the kind of attention they would get in a moment, if they didn't stop it right this second! So why the tears today?

It was all the man's fault. If he hadn't been there, Harry would have finished his daydream in the usual way, stored away the happy memories to hold close to him when he most needed to feel their comfort, and got on with his work. But the man spoilt it all, because he was no longer following the rules were quite simple - the people he created to be with him, to be his own, were supposed to stay out of sight when anyone was there to see. So how come the man had nodded to Mrs Pritchard from Number 8 as she passed by? And how come Dudley had stared straight at him from the living room window just now?

The man had broken the rules, and Harry was terrified of what would happen when Uncle Vernon found out that yet again Harry had ventured into the secret world he had made for himself. A world of wizards, and magic, and flying motorbikes. A world so far removed from the grinding reality of life in Privet Drive, where imaginations were for fools, and where magic was a word that brought nothing but violence and abuse.

Harry remembered with absolute clarity the day last month when Aunt Petunia had dragged him home from St John"s Primary School prizegiving, with a thunderous scowl on her face and Harry's award-winning essay "The Wizard's Apprentice" clutched in her hand. Dudley's small silver cup, presented to the Year 3 Footballer of the Year, had been stuffed un-noticed into her capacious handbag when Mr Billings announced the surprise winner of the WH Smith Junior Schools Essay-Writing competition - a prize which brought with it not only a silver cup 3 times the size of Dudley's, but a framed certificate, confirmation that Harry's essay would appear in print in a famous children's magazine, and the chance for Harry to meet celebrated chidlren's author JK Rowling.

The entire school had erupted with cheers when the headmaster made this announcement. Even Harry smiled shyly as he made his way to the stage to collect his prize, a rare sight that caused his form teacher Miss Avery to nudge her colleague and whisper "You see, Harry does know how to smile! And such a sweet smile too!"

The smile, sweet though it may have appeared, had been all to brief. Mr Billings, with his usual insensitivity to the obvious tensions which existed within the Dursley household, had called attention to Harry's place within it by saying "I feel sure, Harry, that your Aunt Petunia will be so proud to place your trophy & Dudley's alongside each other on the mantle.". One look at the expression on his aunt's face, and any vain hopes Harry might have harboured that she would, for once, be proud of him, were washed away in a sickening flood of fear as the truth hit him. Not only had he outperformed Dudley - a serious offence in the Dursley household at the best of times - but he had allowed the outside world to learn about his fascination with foolish ideas, and forced Aunt Petunia to acknowledge in public yet again the fact that this freakish child was related to her.

Harry shuddered as he remembered the yelling, the vicious slaps across his face and head, the kicking and punching that had started the moment the front door had closed. Even Dudley had been shocked by the frenzied attack, and as his mother's self-control fell away before his eyes, revealing a savagery he had never before witnessed, he had done something unheard of - he had used his not insignificant bulk to pull his mother's hand away Harry's throat and screamed at her to "Stop it, Mummy! Please! It doesn't matter! You're gonna kill him! Please, Mummy! Don't!"

Harry knew for certain that it was only Dudley's actions that day that had saved him from serious injury. Not that this had been of much comfort to him during the long days & nights spent locked in his cupboard, getting by on the scraps of food grudgingly tossed at him by Dudley when forced to let his cousin out to use the bathroom.

It had only been a week since Harry had finally been released from captivity - because Aunt Marge was coming to visit, and Harry was needed to help clean & tidy the house & garden. A fragile peace now existed at Number 4 Privet Drive, with the focus of all it's residents on keeping Aunt Marge happy. Harry was doing so to avoid Uncle Vernon's wrath, and the Dursleys in order to safeguard Dudley's enviable position as his Aunt's sole heir. The last thing Harry wanted to do right now was bring attention on himself, but the man was about to make that impossible, because he was coming across towards Harry, clearly intent on speaking to him and ...... Oh no! Dudley was back at the window, pointing at the man, and calling over his shoulder to get his mother's attention.

Harry had never known why he had created this particular man. The old man with the long grey hair and the kind eyes that twinkled, and who wore the most garishly coloured robes - well, he must be the grandfather figure Harry longed for. The big hairy giant with the moleskin coat and the flying motorbike - well he was fun, and was always bringing Harry unusual creatures to play with. Then there was the laughing young man with the long wavy hair - he always made Harry smile, and chased away the monsters under his bed with a wave of his wand. But this man was different. With his long black robes and his long black hair swept back so severely from his stern face, a face dominated by a long nose and dark expressive eyebrows that could pour scorn over Harry when raised in a quizzical fashion. He was stern and uncaring, but his presence somehow reassured Harry that he was safe, and that the Dark One would not have him.

And now this man was walking up the path towards him, in full view of his cousin, and in total disregard for all the rules of his imaginary world. Harry would just have to ignore him, and hopefully in doing so could once more force him back out of this reality. It was the best, the only thing to do. Harry knew that to acknowledge the man would be to bring both his worlds - the real world of Dursleys and despair, and his imaginary world of wizards and magic - would collide and implode, with consequences of unknown proportion.

"Are you all right, child?" came the silky voice, full of a concern no-one had ever shown to Harry before.

Harry knew he had to ignore the man. He had to get to his feet and walk back indoors, closing his eyes to the magical world; knowing with a dreadful certainty that after this he would never again be able to escape to it's comforting embrace. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Say nothing, Harry. Say nothing. Not a word. Not one.

"Please sir! Please, don't leave me here!"

END OF CHAPTER TWO


	3. Dilemma For The Dursleys

Chapter 3 : Dilemma For The Dursleys

A whirlwind marriage in middle age to an elderly fool, whose only saving graces had been the millions he had squirreled away in overseas trusts and the weak heart which brought about his demise a mere 18 months after the wedding, had left Aunt Marge with the ability to control her covetous younger brother's entire existence. It was Marge who selected Vernon's new car, "advised" Petunia on the best soft furnishings to choose for each room in the house, and "assisted" her in choosing the right clothes to wear. It was also Marge who had enrolled a then 3 year-old Dudley at the exclusive Smeltings Academy for when he turned 11. Petunia still wept into her pillow at night at the thought that in 2 short years her "baby" would be leaving for boarding school.

Aunt Marge's position with regard to "The Boy" was unequivacable. Harry was to stay out of her sight whenever possible, never to be mentioned in conversation, and never to benefit in any way from items supplied by her. As such, the flatscreen TV, DVD & PC combo which took pride of place in the sitting room, and which Aunt Marge had provided, was an item which Harry was responsible for dusting twice a day, but which he had never actually used. The same applied to the laptop lying unused on the floor in Dudley's second bedroom alongside the outmoded Nintendo, Playstation 2 and Xbox. Better they they be left to gather dust than that "The Boy" be allowed any joy from them.

It had never crossed Harry's mind to complain about Aunt Marge's rules. After all, he was used to so many other petty acts of cruelty and repression aimed at him by the people to whom he had been entrusted following the death, shortly after his first birthday, of both his parents.

Petunia, as his mother Lily's only sister, had been, in her own words, "dumped upon by those responsible for encouraging Lily's freakishness" when one cold November morning she had opened the front door to find Harry wrapped in a blanket and lying whimpering on the step. Every effort made to find an alternative home for the unwanted infant had unaccountably failed, and any such efforts had ended abruptly about 9 months after Harry's arrival, when Vernon returned home from work one evening to find a shaken Petunia sitting in the kitchen in pitch darkness, staring in horror at a pile of ash on the floor at her feet, while both toddlers sat hungry & dirty in their highchairs, clearly worn out from crying for attention which had not come. Petunia adamantly refused to discuss what had happened, but from that moment on the idea of removing Harry from the house was permanently shelved.

Whenever possible, Petunia ignored Harry's presence throughout his infancy & toddlerhood. He went to nursery with Dudley purely because it got him out of her way for a few hours each day. Trips to the park or to the shops were reserved for Dudley, as were sweets & treats of any kind. School was, of course, a legal requirement, but as it meant Harry was out of the house for even longer, that was acceptable. However it did mean that more and more often Petunia was forced to acknowledge that Harry was her nephew, which she hated since it inevitably lead to questions about her sister and the man she had married. If pressed, Petunia would have admitted that she hated her nephew - and that made her hate him even more, since she knew what that said about the kind of person she had become, all of which she blamed Harry for.

Vernon Dursley was a coward and a bully. He had a good job as a Company Director, and brought home a decent salary, but he was a greedy man and wanted more both for himself and for his son. Possessing his sister's wealth became a fixation for him, and it is fortunate for Margery that he had just enough moral fibrer to make him balk at the idea of murder to bring those millions within his grasp. In every other respect, however, there was nothing he would not have done to ensure that when his "beloved sister" finally passed on, her money took up permanent residence in either his bank account or his son's. This preoccupation with the accumulation of wealth might have turned Vernon Dursley into a parsimonious partner and a frugal father, but it did not. No, Vernon's wife & son were the regular recipients of expensive gifts, and not just those funded by Aunt Marge. The exact opposite applied, howedver, where Harry was concerned.

Whenever Vernon looked at Harry he seemed to see massive ££ signs over the boy's head. "How much money have we wasted on food for the ungrateful little beggar this week? Why do I have to spend my hard-earned cash on school shoes for the scruffy little sod? What was wrong with sending him to school in Dudley's old trainers? Blasted headmaster and his blasted uniform code! And what did the careless little bastard do to his clothes? Ok, so they were Dudley's hand-me-downs, but why does he have to make them look so worn out and crumpled? Just looking to draw attention to himself as usual. Better not catch my eye, or I'll give him some attention alright!" ..... Such were the thoughts that Harry's presence inspired. Harry was no fool, and knew that his presence raised anger and loathing in Vernon's heart. He dealt with this by staying out of his sight as much as possible - a tactic which appealed equally to them both.

Dudley Dursley was only 18 months old when Harry came to Privet Drive, and as such he could not remember a time when he did not have Harry to torment. From day one he had taken to hurting Harry for no other reason than because he could, and because neither of his parents objected to this new pastime. As the years went on, Harry learnt to run & hide, whilst Dudley learnt to surround himself with like-minded boys happy to run in a pack. Thus "Harry hunting" was born, a sport which kept both boys busy for much of the time both at school and on the streets around Privet Drive. It wasn't that Dudley hated his cousin - he just didn't like having him around.

Dudley wasn't deluded enough to believe that he was the little genius his mother always said he was, but he was cleverer than he looked. He knew, for example, that there was a big secret that surrounded the death of Harry's parents, and he knew that his Mum and Dad were terribly afraid that Harry would turn out to be like his parents. The Potters possessed some power that both frightened and fascinated his Mum, and it had something to do with those people in the strange clothes.

Dudley was about six the first time he remembered seeing one of those people. It was a man in a long green cloak and a floppy green hat a bit like the one Mummy had worn to the Halloween party that year. But it wasn't halloween anymore, and the man was just standing under the oak tree opposite their house, silently watching Harry's botched attempt to wash the car. Dudley had somehow known without being told that this man was something to do with Harry's past, and that mentioning him to Mummy would upset her somehow. Sometimes months would pass without one of these sightings, and Dudley would convince himself that it had all been just a coincidence. Then another strangely dressed adult would be seen watching Harry with rapt attention, indeed almost with reverence, and Dudley would begin to watch his cousin with renewed interest.

It was different this time though. The man who was watching Harry this afternoon was scary. He had stood in the same spot for more than half an hour now, despite the rain, and the look on his face was unreadable. And even more disturbing than that, he was now crossing the road and heading up the garden path towards Harry. Dudley was going to have to say something. Right now. About Harry. In front of Aunt Marge!

"Er...Mummy! There's a strange looking man in the front garden, and he's hugging Harry!!"

END OF CHAPTER THREE


	4. Severus Takes Steps

Chapter 4 : Severus Takes Steps

Severus had no idea how it had happened. The child's unexpected behaviour had obviously caused him to experience a minor mental abherration. How else could he, Severus Snape, the most feared Professor in the history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, have ended up standing in the rain embracing the tear-stained offspring of James bloody Potter.

"Please sir! Please, don't leave me here!"

As the words left his lips, the mud-spattered urchin had scrambled hastily to his feet, then stumbled backwards in blind panic as he realised how close he had come to actually grabbing hold of Severus to prevent him from leaving. His muddy little hands now clutched apprehensively at his sodden t-shirt, his teeth chewing nervously at his upper lip, and his eyes - oh God, those eyes! So green, so troubled, clouded with unshed tears. Lily's eyes!

"Hush, little one" he whispered in soothing tones, putting his left arm around the painfully thin shoulders and gently drawing the child into an awkward embrace. "Everything is going to be alright now."

Harry held his breath as the man's arm went round him, and as he felt himself pulled into an embrace. The first embrace Harry could remember. He had watched with a hopeless longing for many years now as Dudley received endless hugs & kisses from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, knowing without ever having to ask that such treats belonged only to good little boys whose Mummy & Daddy loved them. Cuddles were not to be wasted on freaks whose useless parents had foisted them onto respectable families.

Yet here he stood, in the pouring rain, wrapped securely in the arms of the black-robed man from within his imaginary world, and yet no longer an imaginary figure. The arms that held him were warm and safe, the robes his face was now buried in smelled of soap and musk and a multitude of strangely comforting aromas, and his left ear, pressed tightly against the man's chest, could hear the quietly reassuring thud-thud of his beating heart. He was real! This was real - and instinctively Harry pressed himself closer against his new-found protector, sure beyond all doubt of one thing, and one thing alone. He was safe at last!

All too soon, Harry felt the arms drop from around him. He took a step backwards to acknowledge that the embrace had ended, and the man knelt down in front of him in the dirt, placing one hand firmly on each shoulder. Harry instinctively lowered his gaze, staring down at his own feet and the mud-soaked hem of his protector's robes. In response, a firm hand reached out and took hold of Harry's chin, gently forcing him to look up into the man's face once more.

Although prepared this time, Severus still felt a heavy tug on his weary heart as those emerald green eyes, framed by long, tear-soaked lashes, gazed at him with innocent incredulity of a child. On impulse, touching his other hand to the child's forehead, Severus muttered an incantation. "Legilimens!"

A flood of memories poured from the child, overpowering Severus with their intensity. Memories of years filled with fear, grief and loneliness. Of endless days and nights spent locked in the dark, cold and hungry. Observing life with the Dursleys through the child's eyes, Severus witnessed an endless torrent of petty tyranny and spiteful neglect. A lifetime of learning that it was better to be ignored than to receive attention, since attention always brought with it more pain and humiliation. It was more than Severus could bear to watch. Abruptly, he pulled his mind away. But not before the child had somehow made known what it was he needed. Had transmitted his need to be listened to at last, to be made to feel as if it actually mattered what became of him, an overwhelming need to belong. Severus knew an emotionally scarred man such as himself could never fulfil this child's needs, but one thing was certain... he would not be leaving the child here.

"Well now, much as I enjoy the rain, I believe it's time we stepped inside", he stated firmly, suiting his actions to his words by standing up and heading purposefully towards the front door. At that moment it was flung open, and a red-faced Vernon Dursley appeared in the doorway.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he barked, giving the black-robed stranger on his front porch one of his least inviting stares, "and what the blazes are you doing with my nephew?"

"Whilst I am naturally gratified to note that you appear to be concerned, although belatedly, for your nephew's safety, I believe that this conversation would be more appropriately conducted within the confines of your living room", came the unruffled response. However, as Severus took a further step towards the house he could not help but notice the small hand that had slipped into his. Giving it a reassuring squeeze, he stepped deftly past the stunned man in the doorway, drawing the child swiftly inside.

"Be so kind as to inform Petunia that Severus Snape is here to see her", came the polite request, as Vernon silently closed the front door and headed automatically towards the inner door that led to Petunia's precious sitting room. As Vernon disappeared inside, tactfully closing the door to allow him a little privacy to prepare his wife and sister for what awaited them, Snape looked down with distaste at his soaking wet robes. With a swift, almost imperceptible movement, he withdrew a slim wooden rod from his sleeve, waved it at his clothes and muttered a few words under his breath. Instantaneously, his robes were dry once more. Looking up, he saw Harry staring at him, his mouth gaping open with surprise. Snape responded by repeating his actions, this time with Harry's clothes the focus of his attention. As the sitting room door opened, Snape raised a sardonic eyebrow, muttered "Anyone would think the boy had never seen magic before!", then swept into the sitting room, with a stunned Harry following in the wake of his billowing robes.

"Good afternoon, Petunia. Miserable weather for the time of year, don't you think?", he smirked, watching in amusement as Petunia shot out of her armchair, flinging up her arm to point angrily at the door.

"Get out of here! You have no right forcing yourself in here, in your freakish clothes, with your freakish ways! I told you at Mum & Dad's funeral that you were never to come near me again. All those years when we were growing up, taunting me with your magic tricks, encouraging Lily to be like you! Why couldn't you have died alongside your precious Lily? Or was it too much for you that she chose Potter over you? Who could blame her, after all. You were always so solemn & silent, following behind her like a little puppy dog, hiding from your drunkard of a father by engratiating yourself with Mum and Dad! Making them believe that having a witch for a daughter was a great honour!"

"It is, as always, a pleasure to see you, Petunia. As you say, it has been far too long since we last met." This was Severus at his most silkily polite - and for anyone who knew him well, it was a sign of danger, since Severus' temper, if kept under such icy control for too long, had a tendency to blow in the deadliest fashion. Petunia, who had first encountered Severus Snape at the tender age of six, and who had first hand experience of the after effects of his temper, paled slightly at his tone of voice and slowly lowered her now trembling hand.

Aunt Marge, on the other hand, had no idea who this man was, or how deadly. As far as she was concerned he was some kind of idiot, who had had the absolute audacity to march in here, interrupting her afternoon snooze in the coziest chair in the house, dressed like something out of a third rate fancy dress party, and clearly ignoring the Dursleys' requests to leave. Heaving her not inconsequential bulk out of the chair, and drawing herself to stand stiffly in front of the buffoon in question, she summoned up her very best upper middle class accent, and in stentorian tones demanded "You, sir, will remove yourself immediately from this house, before I am forced to summon the police!"

In a flash, Snape's mask of icy politeness was stripped away, as he pointed his wand at the idiotic figure in front of him and snapped "Petrificus Totalus!"

"No!" shrieked Petunia, as Aunt Marge's body stiffened and fell backwards into Vernon's arms. Stunned, he slowly lowered his sister's seemingly lifeless form to the floor, and then shot back to his feet, screaming "What have you done, you monster? Turn her back! Turn her back right this minute, do you hear?"

Petunia had collapsed backwards onto the chair behind her, and now buried her head in her hands, certain that her husband was about to be killed before her very eyes. And her son's eyes...... Oh God, where was her son? At this thought her head shot back up as her eyes darted feverishly around the room.

Dudley was nobody's fool, and as soon as the strange looking man had entered the living room he had taken up a position of safety behind the sofa, from where he was now peering nervously first at his father, then his mother, then at the prostrate form of his aunt, clearly not sure which of them he should be most concerned for, but deciding in the end that he should put his own safety first. It was therefore with relief that Petunia watched as her precious son slipped silently from the room, to be heard moments later running swiftly up the stairs and out of danger.

Snape took a moment to consider his next move, then turned his attention and his wand arm towards Petunia, only to be forestalled by an insistent tugging on his robe. Glancing down briefly, he looked into the terrified face of the child, who now whispered something he couldn't quite make out. Continuing to level his wand at Petunia, he asked tersely "What is it, Potter?"

The child flinched at the harsh tone, then swallowed and asked hesitantly "Please, Sir. Please, can we leave? I.... I don't want to be here anymore."

The sight of Harry, who had had the absolute temerity to come into the living room - a room from which he was banned unless doing the housework - inspired his uncle to even greater levels of anger. Stepping up behind the boy, he reached out a hand and cuffed him hard across the back of the head, knocking the child off his feet. It was only Snape's swift reflexes that prevented Harry from hitting the floor. Then, cushioning the child safely against him with his free arm, he span around to face Vernon, incandescent with rage, and with his wand now pointed directly at the red-faced man.

"No!!!" screamed Petunia, leaping once more to her feet as a flash of blue light shot from the end of Snape's wand, but there was nothing to be done. It was too late, because where a few seconds ago had stood her irate husband there now lay what appeared to be nothing but a crumpled pile of clothes. As Petunia stared at them in horror, the pile of clothes shifted slightly, and out from under them scuttled a large black rat. With a deafening screech, Petunia launched herself sideways, landing atop the coffee table in a sickening parody of the big mama escaping from the mouse in a Tom & Jerry cartoon. And there she remained, watching in sickened fascination as her "husband" scampered across the room, then shot out through the patio doors and hid amongst the array of pot plants and wicker baskets gathered in the furthest corner of the conservatory.

Snape sneered, then turned his attention to the child at his side. Kneeling down, he drew Harry out from his hiding place within his robes, looked him firmly in the eye and said "Please go and collect your things, Mr Potter. We are leaving."

END OF CHAPTER FOUR


	5. A Refusal At The First Fence

Chapter 5 : A Refusal At The First Fence

Whilst Petunia continued to indulge in a fit of the vapours in the living room, Harry dashed into the hall and thence to the cupboard under the stairs, which had served as his bedroom for the past 7 years. Snape stood silently in the doorway and watched, a grim look on his face, as Harry opened a battered old suitcase to reveal his meagre supply of ill-fitting second-hand clothes. To this, Harry added a small pile of battered paperback books, and a plastic tub full of broken crayons, as well as a bundle of dog-eared pages covered in childish pictures and scrawl. When Harry discovered that the zip on the suitcase refused to work, he settled for closing the straps, hoping that the contents would not fall out. The impatient sighs emanating from his stern-faced saviour encouraged him to hurry, and less than 5 minutes after Vernon's departure to the conservatory, Harry was at Snape's side once more and heading for the front door.

It had taken Petunia a moment or two to register the implications when she heard the front door closing, and by the time she had run screaming down the hallway and flung the front door wide open, both man and boy had disappeared. Numb with shock, she collapsed in an undignified heap on the front doorstep, and it was here that the Ministry of Magic's Muddle Services officers found her late that evening. After Vernon and Marge had been returned to "normal" and Marge's memory suitably modified, the Dursleys were advised that a formal investigation would be being made into the events surrounding Snape's "abduction" of their nephew.

* * *

By the time he had finished throwing up, and was leaning wearily against Snape, who was sitting patiently beside him, one arm comfortingly around him, whilst gently rubbing his back as the waves of nausea slowly subsided, Harry had reached an important decision. He would never travel by sidealong apparition again as long as he lived. Or maybe it was the travelling via chimneys using something called "floo powder" that his body had objected to. Whichever it was, both had been terrifying, gut-wrenching, disorientating experiences, and the resultant bout of sickness was not only singularly unpleasant but also excrutiatingly embarrassing. How would he ever live it down that the very first time he was introduced to the most powerful wizard of them all, Professor Albus Dumbledore, he had thrown up all over the man's red & gold suede boots?

The fact that Professor Dumbledore was the gaudily dressed, twinkling-eyed old man of his imaginings did not occur to Harry until later than evening. By then, he had been whisked away from Dumbledore's office and the relatively familiar comfort of Snape's arms by a stern looking woman named Minerva. Mercifully electing to walk Harry down various corridors & staircases, rather than insisting that he step back into the fireplace with her, she had ushered him to what looked like a hospital ward, there to be stripped of his now filthy clothes, then washed, measured, weighed, and generally fussed over by a matronly lady referred to by the professors as Poppy. This was followed by being tucked up in a warm, comfortable bed and fed the most delicious chicken and potato broth Harry had ever tasted, accompanied by a chunk of tangy cheese and a white crusty roll smothered in butter. Harry had never felt so full, so warm and cosy, or so safe and secure in his entire life - so naturally he burst into tears. Nobody became angry, even then - Poppy merely enfolded the exhausted child in her arms, and held him close, making soothing noises and stroking his hair, until he fell asleep.

The atmosphere in Dumbledore's office was nowhere near as relaxing. When Snape & Harry had first appeared in his office, Professor Dumbledore had been in the middle of a rather heated debate with his deputy head, Professor Minerva McGonagall. Or rather, since Albus Dumbledore became heated about as often as Petunia Dursley said something pleasant about her nephew, Minerva was becoming heated whilst Albus smiled placidly, sucking on a sherbet lemon & nodding sagely as if in agreement with her comments. Since her comments related mainly to her opinion that Severus Snape was the very last person who should have been trusted to check up on Harry Potter, that gentleman's arrival at that very moment, via the floo network, with the child in question clutching in terror to his robes, would seem to confirm everything that she had said.

Initial introductions had to be placed on hold whilst Harry parted company with the somewhat meagre contents of his stomach. By the time Harry had finished throwing up, and Severus had finished cleaning him up, whilst reassuring him, albeit somewhat sternly - "of course nobody is angry with you, you foolish child!" - that he was not in any trouble, the shrewd Minerva McGonagall had noted that not only was the child far too small & thin for his age, but that Severus was fighting very hard to control his temper. She had also deduced, from the way Severus was glaring at his gaudily-glad mentor, that his ire was aimed squarely at the headmaster. She also knew, from years of experience, that his temper would blow very shortly if Dumbledore did not stop smiling sweetly at him, murmuring about how touching it was to see how well Severus seemed to be coping with the child, who had once more burrowed himself in the safety of his saviour's robes.

As soon as McGonagall and Harry had left the room, Snape had turned on the old man, coldly informing him that he had brought the child to Hogwarts for his own safety, and that any attempt to return him to the "loving embrace" of his Aunt Petunia would be met with deadly force. When this statement led to Dumbledore smiling and gently shaking his head, Snape's temper reached meltdown. Had his opponent been a lesser wizard, the hexes and curses which flew from Snape's wand would doubtless have caused a great deal of damage, but Dumbledore merely wrapped the irate man in a bubble of soft green light, within which he could do no harm to anyone including himself, then calmly selected another sherbet lemon from the glass bonbon dish on his desk, and waited patiently for Snape to wear himself out.

At the exact same moment as Harry had found himself wrapped in the comforting embrace of the Hogwarts kind-hearted medi-witch, Severus Snape had found himself in the arms of his beloved mentor and friend, weeping for his lost love, and for the child she had left behind. A child whom he had once sworn to protect with his life's blood. A child he had coldly turned his back on seven years ago, for no other reason than because he was also James Potter's son.

"My dear child" Dumbledore murmured, as he sat with his arm around the younger man's shoulder, "you cannot blame yourself for what has happened! Surely you can see that? It was I, not you, who insisted that the blood wards be used to protect the boy. It was I, not you, who bullied Petunia into keeping Harry, even after she had made it clear that she did not want him in her family. And it was I, not you, who assigned that idiot Mundungus Fletcher to watch over him all these years. I should have known - I doubt now that he ever went near the child in all this time! The guilt is mine, Severus, and you shall have no part of it. I thank God you went there today - and I have no doubt Harry will do well in your care."

"In my care?" came the incredulous reply, as Severus once more launched himself to his feet, and began to pace about the room in a distracted fashion. "And just what exactly is that supposed to mean, may I ask? Did you really believe for one moment that I intended to take charge of the brat? Are you mad? Me, Severus Snape, the man James Potter tormented for years just because he could, take care of his blasted son & heir? No! Just because I could not allow the brat to be left with that harpy and her sadistic bastard of a husband does not mean I wish to spend the next 10 years tucking him up in bed at night and wiping his nose for him! I brought him to you, you old fool! You find someone to fawn all over him! Shouldn't be too hard - must be plenty of influential families would like to be the ones to raise "the boy who lived"...... Why not ask Lucius Malfoy? Or what about Arthur & Molly Weasley - they already have 7 children, so what difference would one more make? Personally, I believe I have wasted enough of my valuable time on the brat - school starts back in less than a week, and I still haven't finished the stock-take of my secondary potions store. So, if you will excuse me, Headmaster..."

With that, Severus turned and swept from the room, his emotions once more carefully buried beneath the sardonic persona he had worked so long and hard to create. Dumbledore sighed, as he reached for another sherbet lemon, muttering to himself "Oh Severus, my child, when will you allow yourself to care about anyone? Did Lily's betrayal harm you so very deeply, that you turn away the love of her son, when it is yours for the taking? Do not hide from this for ever! One day, God willing, you will realise how much you have to offer - and how much Harry has to offer you!"

END OF CHAPTER FIVE


	6. Happy Birthday, Harry

Chapter 6 : Happy Birthday Harry

Harry was 9 years old today, and it was as if his life had started afresh. Never before, as far as he knew, had he been the centre of so much attention. Everyone had spent the entire day smiling at him - well, not Professor Snape, of course, but according to Fred and George, he never smiled at anyone, "not even his precious snakes!"

Fred and George were identical twins, who were 13 years old and knew absolutely everything there was to know about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, since they had already been at the school for 2 years. The twins, along with their somewhat bossy older brother Percy, their 11 year-old brother Ron, who would be starting at Hogwarts this term, and their sister Ginny, who shared Harry's birthday but was exactly a year older than him, had entered Harry's life two days earlier.

Harry had spent the morning of his first day at Hogwarts quietly assisting Madam Pomfrey with sorting, folding & putting away the large supply of clean linen she liked to have to hand in the hospital wing, where Harry had spent the previous night. Poppy Pomfrey was unsure what to make of the quiet, biddable child who solemnly rejected her suggestion that he might wish to spend the morning exploring the castle grounds. "But Madam Pomfrey" he had insisted "I must help you with your work. How else am I to pay my way?" He had become so distressed at the thought that she might reject his help, that she had thought it best to let him have his way. However, whilst the child was busy counting pillowcases, she had slipped away to speak to Minerva, and suggest that it Molly and Arthur Weasley were planning to attend the Order's emergency meeting that afternoon, they be asked to bring the younger children with them, to entertain Harry in a more appropriate fashion.

Harry was exceedingly nervous when Madam Pomfrey led him for the first time into the Great Hall, where he had been summoned to take lunch with the Professors. He would have much preferred to have eaten in the kitchen, as he had always done at 4 Privet Drive, but had been laughingly informed by Madam Pomfrey that "the elves would have a fit if Harry Potter appeared in their midst, and we should all of us be left to starve, mark my words!" Harry would have liked to ask who the elves were, and why his appearance in their midst would cause such upheaval, but he had been trained by his Aunt Petunia from an early age that questions, especially questions about himself or his parents, were best not asked. To do so usually led at best to a few hungry hours locked in his cupboard, and at worst to a split lip or a black eye. So Harry followed nervously behind Madam Pomfrey as she walked the length of the Great Hall, to the head table where sat the entire academic staff, all of them looking with interest at the small child with the solemn green eyes who had so unexpectedly landed in their midst.

It had been Snape who had rescued Harry from this intense scrutiny, by pointing coldly at the seat opposite his own and curtly ordering the child to "sit down, and try not to make a mess". His presence, and even his curtness, was somehow reassuring to Harry, who scrambled up into the chair in question, and looked down shyly at the empty plate in front of him. Snape reached across and tapped the edge of the plate with his wand. At once it was filled with roast gammon, roast potatoes, green beans, carrots and gravy. More food than Harry had ever been offered in his life, and only a few short hours after Madam Pomfrey had insisted that he eat a full bowl of porridge, and two slices of hot buttered toast, washed down with a wonderful drink she told him was pumpkin juice. Unsure if he would manage to eat much of it, but unwilling to risk annoying his Professor, Harry started to make inroads on his meal.

After the initial silence that Harry's entry had triggered, the professors returned to their individual conversations, except for Professor McGonagall, who continued to focus her attention on Harry. She was forced to hide a smile at the sight of Severus, ensuring that the boy received a balanced meal - he had even seen that Harry's goblet was filled with milk, rather than whatever fizzy rubbish the elves would no doubt otherwise have offered him. When Albus had suggested last night that Severus appeared to care for the child, she had laughed it off as one of his ridiculous romantic fancies - Severus Snape, providing care & concern for his enemy's son?! - but now she was forced to reconsider. Perhaps the old man was right!

As if he had read her thoughts, Snape caught McGonagall's eye, silently challenging her to vocalise them. When she tactfully chose to look away, he smirked at her before turning his attention to Hagrid, the school groundskeeper, a giant of a man with a heart to match, but who was sadly looked upon by many at the school as nothing but a big buffoon. Severus, however, had maintained a close friendship with the older man since his own, somewhat solitary, time as a Hogwarts student. Harry, ploughing his way through his lunch, was also focusing his attention on Hagrid - for was he not the very image of the hairy giant in the moleskin coat from his dreams? The man with the flying motorbike and the menagerie of unusual creatures? Even now, he was busy talking to Professor Snape about the best way to house train a three-headed puppy!!

The meal had just ended when the doors at the far end of the Great Hall were flung open and a crowd of red-headed children came pouring in, laughing & yelling, and indulging in what appeared to Harry to be a strange variation on the game of "tag". In this game, whoever was "tagged" suddenly turned bright blue in the face, remaining this colour until a sibling had been successfully "tagged" in his/her place. As the children continued down the hall in this chaotic fashion, the doors opened again to admit two rather exhausted looking adults, whose position as parents to this raucous group was confirmed by the fact that they too had red hair.

"Fred! George! Do stop winding the kids up!" came the mother's tired and somewhat resigned voice. "You promised!" The boys in question, whom Harry had realised were identical twins, turned and grinned at their mother, chorusing "But we're kids too, mother!" before returning once more to the melee. With a shrill scream, the smallest member of the red-headed league, whose long plaits declared that she was a girl, pounced on one of the twins, yelling "Tag!!"

A few seconds later, however, the entire red-headed party ground to a still and silent halt, when a stern voice called out "The next child who makes a sound will spend the afternoon scrubbing out the pile of dirty cauldrons that were overlooked at the end of last term!" Having effectively quelled the riot, Snape stood up and calmly left the room, nodding curtly to the parents as he passed, while they hastened to proffer their thanks for his assistance. The father, now red of face as well as of hair, then turned to glare at his offspring. Any scolding that may have ensued was abandoned, however, as Professor Dumbledore let out a great laugh and called "Welcome, Weasleys one and all! So good to see you. Ginny, my dear child, you must have grown at least an inch since last I saw you!"

The atmosphere lightened, and in no time at all Harry had found himself out in the grounds of the castle, up to his eyes in a strange but exciting game called "Kidditch", which was played with sticks which closely resembled the bats they used at school for rounders, balls of various sizes, and a tiny winged ball which was called a "snitch". Ron Weasley, with whom Harry had instantly become friends, confided that he could hardly wait to start at Hogwarts the following week, when he would begin to learn the proper version of this game, which was called "Quidditch" and for which you had to know how to fly a broomstick.

Harry had the best time of his life that afternoon. Never before had he played so happily with children around his own age. At school, Dudley and his gang had ruled the playground, and Harry had been a target, not a playmate, for anyone who wanted to avoid annoying Dudley. The same had applied on the rare occasions that Harry had been allowed to go to the local park. To be accepted so readily, and made to feel so welcome, by the Weasley children, was a source of great joy to Harry.

However when, at the end of the day, Mrs Weasley had calmly informed him that "we'll be back on Sunday for your birthday party, Harry dear", it had all become too much. He, Harry Potter, was to have a birthday party! With cake, and ice cream and (if Mrs Weasley was to be believed) presents! Overcome by a wealth of mixed emotions, Harry had been horrified to find his eyes filling with tears. Terrified that his tears would inspire anger, as was usually the case in his experience, he turned hastily from her, and began to walk swiftly away. He then broke into a run, continuing to run blindly until he found himself standing beside the lake, staring across to the mist-covered mountains beyond.

It was here that Snape found him some time later, sitting hunched up at the water's edge, knees pulled in against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, and his chin resting on his knees as he stared unseeing towards the horizon. Without a word, the potions master sat down beside Harry and calmly placed an arm around the child's shoulders, allowing Harry to lean his head against his chest. The unlikely pair remained in that position for some time, each of them apparently aware that there was no need for words, as comfort was offered and accepted in silence. At last, as the sun sank below the horizon, Snape gave Harry's shoulders a final squeeze, and then released him, standing up and pulling the child gently to his feet. Then, still without a word, he placed a firm but gentle hand on Harry's shoulder and led him back to the castle. Once inside he was brusquely ordered to "go straight to Madam Pomfrey, and try not to cause any more trouble this evening - we are all far too busy to spend our time hunting for you!" Harry nodded silently, and did as he was told. As before, he found Snape's calm severity somehow comforting.

So here he was, at his first ever birthday party, surrounded by laughter and friendship, and somehow realising that this was how it should always have been. That despite what his Aunt and Uncle had always said, he was neither a freak nor a bastard, and had as much right to a birthday as every other child. Harry was a bright child, and had decided to make up for lost time. So he stuffed himself to the gills with jelly, ice cream, cakes, sweets and chocolate, whilst joining the Weasley children, ably assisted by Professor Dumbledore and the giant Hagrid, in every raucous game they could come up with. Even the fact that by the end of the afternoon he had been violently sick not once but twice did not noticeably dampen his spirits, and when Madam Pomfrey finally tucked him into bed in the hospital wing once more, he happily informed her that he had had "the bestest time ever!" Poppy Pomfrey smiled sadly at the little boy, as she turned to leave him. He looked so pale and thin, and it had taken so little effort to make his day special. When she thought of all the lost birthdays whilst he was with the Dursleys, her blood boiled. How could anyone treat such a sweet child so cruelly?

Left with instructions to get some sleep, Harry instead lay awake a while longer, glancing across every now and again at the pile of birthday cards & presents which he had received. Were you to examine these gifts with a critical eye, you might be forgiven for wondering how many other boys his age would have been so easily thrilled. Harry had received mostly text books and clothes from his professors, as well as from the Weasleys, but had nevertheless declared each and every gift to be "brilliant, thanks!" However, pride of place had clearly been given to Hedwig, the snowy owl who had been his gift from, of all people, Professor Snape. True, Snape had tried to down-play things, by telling Harry that "the dratted bird" had been given to him on his last tour of duty at St Mungo's by a grateful patient, and was "of no earthly use to me, child, so you might as well take her!" Harry, however, remained unconvinced by these words, and insisted on thanking his dour professor profusely several times throughout the day. Indeed, he ceased this activity in the end only when Snape promised to smack his backside for him unless he ceased "prattling on about the blasted owl!" Although almost 100% certain Snape would not really carry out this threat, Harry wisely decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and no further mention was made that day of either owls or kindly potions masters.

With a final contented sigh, Harry Potter rolled over and prepared to go to sleep, only to sit bolt upright again as he remembered something amazing........ Tomorrow, he was to become a pupil of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry!

END OF CHAPTER SIX

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Thank you all so much for your constructive comments - I'm especially flattered to think that some of you might consider me too young to remember 1989 very clearly! However, as you will see from later chapters (if you stay with me on this one!), I have not gone with canon for this story. For example, whilst Harry is only nine at the start of my tale, Ron & Hermione are eleven.

This is because, although I love so many of the "Snape mentors / adopts Harry" tales to be found on this site, I have noticed that on the whole the writers have had to make Harry appear much younger than he really is in order to make the relationship develop properly. An extra two years of life with the Dursleys produces, to my way of thinking, a Harry so used to relying solely on himself that he would be much less inclined to latch onto any adult for emotional support. By making him that little bit younger, and yet already adrift without an anchor in the world of Hogwarts, I felt that his attraction towards the stability offered by Snape would be more believable. However, the idea of Hogwarts without Ron & Hermione was too much to bear - hence my little tweak of the facts.

Hope you continue to enjoy the story as much as I am enjoying writing it!

Many thanks


	7. Looking The Other Way

Chapter 7 : Looking The Other Way

Severus Snape had always prided himself on his ability to remain emotionally detached when dealing with students. Despite claims of favouritism leveled at him by certain students, this almost clinical detachment even extended to those within his own house. It was true that he defended his "little snakes" against all outsiders, but whilst it might appear to the likes of the Weasley twins that Slytherins got away with murder, the academic staff was well aware that Severus' in-house discipline was far stricter than that imposed by the other Heads of House. Indeed, it had often been noted that members of his house sent for by Professor Snape to "discuss" their behaviour invariably appeared visibly chastened and quiet for days to come.

Within the confines of the Slytherin common room, on the first night of every school year, the new first years would listen in awe-struck silence as the dark visaged man in the sweeping black cloak calmly informed them that their first duty from this point onwards was to their house, and to it's Head. Any child who brought the name of his / her house into disrepute or, heaven forbid, caused their Head of House to appear incapable of maintaining good order, would most definitely live to regret it.

The same speech had been made at the beginning of this term, and Snape had smiled to himself to see the pride which swelled within young Draco Malfoy, when mention was made of former members of Slytherin house whose sons & daughters had a proud tradition to uphold. Draco, the only son of one of the noblest pureblood wizarding families, had clearly been trained since birth to value his family's history. Salazar Slytherin himself had always insisted that the only wizard worthy of the name was one born of pure bloodlines, and that only the offspring of pureblood witches & wizards belonged at Hogwarts. Severus wondered sometimes how Lucius Malfoy, let alone the other pureblood families whose sons & daughters were currently in his care, would react if he knew that Severus Snape's own father had been a muggle - a non-magical person, a drunkard in fact, who despised his wife's magical heritage, and had done his utmost to beat any tendencies towards "that kind of nonsense" out of his only son. For years now, since first he himself had been sorted into Slytherin and had listened to his Head of House speak of pureblood superiority, Snape had hidden his true bloodlines - Dumbledore alone at Hogwarts knew the truth, and he would never speak of it, since to do so would mean pulling loose one of the stones which held together the foundations of the fragile peace currently in place within the magical world.

It was unfortunate for Draco Malfoy that he was the first of the new Slytherins to fall foul of his Professor's rule about not embarrassing his Head of House before his peers. Only three nights into the new school year, Snape had been taking a late night cup of tea with the other professors in the staff sitting room, discussing the latest intake of students, when Peeves has appeared, bouncing up and down and singing about "ickle firsties out of bed!" When Snape somewhat smugly commented that perhaps someone needed to remind their students of the rules regarding curfew, an ecstatic Peeves had begun to dance around him in circles, gleefully chanting "It's a snake! Peeves sees a baby snake, a-slithering about when it should be in it's ickle nestie!" As his colleagues did their best to hide the grins which this statement brought to their lips, Snape swept angrily from the room in search of the child who had so foolishly disgraced his Professor.

Twenty minutes later, a weeping Draco was making his way slowly upstairs to bed, watched from the foot of the dormitory staircase by his stony faced Professor. As far as Draco was concerned, he fully intended to avoid any repetition of the justice which had just been meted out to him - a justice which he had not truly believed was about to fall upon him until he had actually found himself in that most undignified position, feeling the full force of his stern Professor's displeasure. From Snape's point of view, he felt no satisfaction following his "discussion" with young Malfoy - he had always considered the application of discipline to be a stern duty, one to be handled calmly and dispassionately, and never meted out in anger. He took no pleasure in dealing with such matters but, as in all things relating to duty, he did what was expected of him, and did so to the very best of his ability. The child had needed to be taught a lesson, and so the lesson had duly been imparted. Afterwards, all Snape wanted to do was retreat to his quarters and prepare a soothing draught for himself - Malfoy's reaction to his dose of much needed discipline had been far more vocal than expected, leaving his Professor's head aching and his nerves jangling.

Draco was the first that term, but by no means the last, to find himself on the receiving end of Snape's discipline. For those outside his house, discipline from Professor Snape invariably meant the loss of points for their house, lines, punishment essays, or detentions. A detention from the potions master was definitely something to be avoided at all costs, since it usually involved hours spent scrubbing cauldrons, cutting up flubberworms, removing newts' eyes and other unpleasant and usually messy tasks. To Harry and his friends, it sometimes appeared that the members of Gryffindor house received far more than their fair share of such punishments.

Harry was in Gryffindor. Not officially, that is, because despite strenuous pleading from both Harry and Professor McGonagall, the sorting hat had firmly refused to place him in one of the four houses, stating that he was too young to know yet where he truly belonged. However, taking account of the fact that both his parents had been in Gryffindor, it had been agreed that he would be placed there for the time being. Only Snape had voiced any objections to this decision, but since these objections related mainly to his belief that Minerva would spoil the child, he was overridden - secretly, the other professors agreed that Minerva would spoil the boy, but they all felt that, after the life Harry had been forced to lead, he deserved to be spoiled a little.

Snape hated the fact that, when he looked at the child, he saw James Potter before him, as he had been when they first met. James Potter, with his happy ability to make friends, and to charm his way out of trouble. After all, who would believe ill of one of Dumbledore's golden boys? James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and little Peter Pettirgrew - the Marauders, they called themselves, those boys who had made life at Hogwarts a living hell for one Severus Snape. Severus, the shy, secretive little boy who had thought that, in Hogwarts, he had finally found a place where he would be welcomed for who and what he was. A place where he could put behind him the hatred and abuse his father had showered on him almost daily. James Potter had turned his refuge into a different kind of prison, but had been so charming, so beloved by all around him, that nobody had seen the dark side of his personality - not even Lily, in the end, had been immune to that charm! And here was his son, and damn but he looked so like his father! Except for those eyes - Lily's eyes....

It had not taken Severus long to work out that the easiest way to avoid the painful memories Harry's presence inspired in him was to ignore the child altogether, and so this is what he had tried to do. In class, this had turned out to be easier than he expected - Harry showed a natural ability at potions which he had clearly inherited from his mother. As such, Snape found it unnecessary to scold or badger the child, and at the end of each lesson was able merely to nod curtly as Harry placed a small vial of his potion on his Professor's desk for grading. The only time in class that he had been forced to speak to Harry had been when the brat had the audacity to turn up late, accompanied by the youngest Weasley boy. Even then, Snape had been able to deal with the situation by merely pausing in his speech on the topic of the day long enough to stare haughtily at the two latecomers, before stating "50 points each will be taken from Gryffindor - now sit!"

Outside of the classroom, however, it was surprisingly difficult to ignore Harry. In the Great Hall, during supper, Severus would find his eyes drifting automatically towards the Gryffindor table. Annoyingly, he would realise that not only did he somehow find it necessary to reassure himself that the child was there, but also found himself wondering whether the food on Harry's plate actually contained anything of nutritional value! Why should he care if the Brat Who Lived was also the Brat Who Lived On Junk Food? And yet, somehow he did care.

The same problem arose when he saw the child looking pale or tired - which was more often the case than anyone else appeared to realise. With any other first year, Snape would have put it all down to homesickness and left well alone, knowing from experience that in a boarding school environment it took some children longer to settle than others. In Harry's case, however, he had felt obliged to raise the matter with Minerva and Dumbledore at the close of one of their weekly meetings. Minerva's reaction had been to bristle defensively, assuring him that she was more than capable of taking care of such matters without any interference, thank you very much! Then, to cap it all, Dumbledore had had the absolute audacity to turn Snape's comment back on him, by gently suggesting that perhaps the best way to find out if Harry was all right would be for Severus to "spend some time with the boy; let him know that he can come to you with any problems he may be having!" Snape's reaction to this had been to snap back angrily "I told you already, old man, I have no intention of becoming that child's nursemaid!" He had then gathered what was left of his dignity about him, and swept from the room, leaving Dumbledore and Minerva gazing thoughtfully at each other.

"Tell me, Minerva" said the wily old man, stroking his long grey beard, an irrepressible twinkle shining in his eye, "just how much longer do you think we will have to wait before our esteemed colleague finally acknowledges the connection already forged between himself and that child?"

"I don't know, Albus" she replied sadly, "but I hope for both their sakes that it won't be long now."

Back in his quarters, leaning back comfortably in his favourite armchair, sipping his night-time cup of cocoa, and staring moodily into the fire, Snape was berating himself for yet again allowing that child to get under his skin. He was going to have to work harder at looking the other way!

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN


	8. The Brief Bliss of Belonging

8 : The Brief Bliss Of Belonging

Harry loved being at Hogwarts. He loved the ancient castle and grounds, set beside a still grey lake, surrounded by mist-covered mountains. He loved the Gryffindor common room, with it's comfy sofas and roaring fires. He loved his dormitory, which he shared with Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas, and where he slept each night in a four-poster bed - a far cry from the bumpy mattress on the floor of his old cupboard at Privet Drive! He loved having friends to share his day with - to laugh & joke with, to moan with about strict professors and heavy homework assignments, and even to argue with when he was tired or fed up, knowing that they would still be his friends once the argument had ended. But most of all, he loved magic!!

Harry had been astounded to discover that his imaginary world, a world peopled with wizards and giants and magical creatures, was just as real as the world in which he had lived for the past seven years. He and Ron had taken to sitting up late into the night, curled up together on Harry's bed, with the curtains drawn around them for privacy, as Ron told his eager new friend endless stories of famous witches and wizards. Thus it was that Harry had learnt that his own mum and dad had been magical folk too, even though Lily had been born of Muggle parents; and it was from Ron that he had learnt, late one stormy night, the true story of his parents' death, and had heard for the very first time the name of "Voldemort." There in the darkness, as tears slid silently down both their faces, the two little boys had held hands as they made a solemn oath that, one day, they would avenge the deaths of Lily and James Potter.

Ron in his turn had been amazed when Harry had told him of his imaginary world – especially when Harry confessed that in his imagination he had created his own versions of several of the professors. He had laughed at Harry's rather accurate descriptions of Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape and the giant Hagrid, but had been unable to work out who the laughing young man with the long wavy hair could possibly be. Harry was insistent on finding this out, since it had been this figure upon whom Harry had always relied the most, to banish his tears and keep him safe from the monsters under his bed. Together, the boys had visited Hagrid the next day, to ask if he really had a flying motorcycle like the one Harry had dreamt of, and to ask who he thought the mysterious young man might be. To their surprise, Hagrid had denied any knowledge of a flying motorcycle, and when they had pressed him about the laughing young man from "Harry world", as the boys had dubbed it, he had stormed away from them towards the Forbidden Forest, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Traitorous dog! Deserved everything he got, and more!"

Being at Hogwarts was like being in heaven, and Harry was loving every minute of it. Well, almost every minute........

Harry was a realist, and in his experience he had always found that happy times were all too brief, and could be snatched away when you least expected. So he was totally convinced that any day now the Minister of Magic - whom he had not actually met, but who had, according to what Hagrid had told him, somewhat grudgingly agreed to his temporary placement at Hogwarts - would remember that Harry existed, and insist that he be returned to the Dursleys. Had he spoken of his fears to anyone, they would swiftly have disavowed him of any such concerns. But Harry was not used to having adults in whom he felt capable of confiding, and so he kept his worries to himself, taking them out to mull over late at night when he couldn't sleep.

Sometimes, when Harry was sitting in the Great Hall with his friends, or working quietly in the library during study period, he would feel as if he were being watched, and would look up to find Professor Snape regarding him, a quizzical look in his dark eyes. In those brief moments, Harry would find himself wondering what would happen if he simply stood up, walked over to his Professor and said "Please, sir, I'm scared. Please - talk to me!". But then, as quickly as the idea came to him, just as quickly would come the thought "Don't be silly, Harry! He doesn't care about you!"

Harry was confused by Professor Snape. He had been ever since that first encounter in Privet Drive. Snape had been the first person who had shown any concern for Harry, had attacked Uncle Vernon just for hitting him (and let us not forget that, for Harry, blows & curses from his uncle had been an almost daily event), and had snatched him away to safety here at Hogwarts. Even once there, it had been Snape who had taken care of Harry when he was sick that first night, and it had been Snape who had come looking for him when he had got upset about his birthday party, and had seemed to understand instinctively how he felt. It was even Snape who had, according to Hagrid, stood up before some group known as "the Order" and stated that he would spend the rest of his life in some dreadful place called Alakazam rather than allow Harry to be sent back to the Dursleys. And then, of course, there was Hedwig..... Harry's owl, and the most wonderful creature in the world. She always seemed to know when Harry needed comfort (which she offered by coming and sitting on his shoulder and nibbling his ear), and she had been given to him by none other than Professor Snape!

Harry had almost begun to trust this stern faced man, had somehow felt that he could rely on Snape to keep him safe, had even felt that perhaps Snape actually cared about him. Then term had started, and Snape had begun to turn his back on Harry, sometimes quite literally. In class, he ignored Harry completely, but that was ok because it was better than the way he treated the rest of the Gryffindors. Out of class, though, Harry would find Snape's brooding eyes resting on him, but the moment he caught Harry returning his gaze, his Professor would look away. Harry was hurt, and confused. He wanted to ask Snape what he had done to make him turn away. But in his heart of hearts he already knew - it was because he was a freak, unwanted, a burden. And now that Snape had realised the truth, he would not stand in the way when they came to take Harry back to Privet Drive.

So Harry made up his mind to make the most of what little time he would have at Hogwarts. From Ron Weasley, who had fast become his closest friend and partner in crime, he learnt how to play wizard chess, at which Ron was an acknowledged genius. In return, he taught Ron how to play hooky from the more tedious lessons, which usually meant History of Magic, and Defence against the Dark Arts. The two boys always found a willing co-conspirator in Hagrid, who considered that they were learning far more by helping him with his menagerie of magical creatures than they could possibly learn from Professor Binns, the ghost of the late History Professor, or that stuttering idiot Professor Quirrell, whose DADA lessons had quickly become known by students and professors alike as a pathetic waste of time.

So while his classmates struggled to stay awake while Professor Binns droned his way through the history text book, or tried to stifle giggles as Professor Quirrell stuttered his way through a barely audible description of the best way to recognise a Dementor (from whom he considered the best defence was to run away!), Harry was learning how to handle blast-ended screwts (carefully!) and hippogriffs (with respect) as well as how to slip Hagrid's home made rock cakes (aptly named!) into his pocket instead of his mouth, without being spotted.

There were, however, two flies in Harry & Ron's ointment. Percy Weasley, who was not only Ron's older brother and a Gryffindor prefect, but was also, according to Fred & George, "a total prig!" would have no compunction about reporting Ron's illicit behaviour to his parents, were he to get wind of what was going on. Mercifully, though, Percy had so far been kept carefully in the dark about his youngest brother's activities. The other danger came from a small girl with bushy brown hair and prominent teeth. Her name was Hermione Granger.

Hermione, who had turned 12 on the first day of term, was almost exactly 3 years Harry's senior. She was muggle-born, the only child of two dentists, and probably the most talented student in their class. From the moment her Hogwarts letter had arrived, confirming finally her family's suspicions that she had magical powers, they had invested all their energies and a not insignificant amount of money in providing Hermione with as much information as possible about the world she was about to enter. Hermione loved books & studying - she had done since, at the tender age of three, she had taught herself to read using the magazines in her parents' surgery waiting room. To her way of thinking, anyone who skipped lessons was two volumes short of an encyclopaedia. In addition, Hermione firmly believed that breaking school rules was one of the cardinal sins. In short, Hermione Granger was a swot, and a little goody two-shoes

Things came to a head, in more ways than one, on 31 October. It was Halloween, and as such would be a night of feasting and festivities for the Hogwarts students. However, the fact that it was a feast day did not mean that there was a cessation of study.

Today, in Charms, the first year Gryffindors had been working on making feathers float, using the spell "wingardium leviosa". Hermione had, as usual, been the first to successfully float her feather, but in the process of doing so had spoken arrogantly to Ron about his less than brilliant attempts. In response, as the children left the classroom, he had turned on her, calling her several unpleasant names, and then informed the rest of the class, at the top of his voice, that "It's no wonder she hasn't got any friends! What a geek!!"

Harry knew that Ron was angry, but he also knew that he had gone too far, when Hermione fled from the room, openly weeping. He felt that he should remonstrate with his friend, or go after the unfortunate Hermione and try to offer some sort of apology on Ron's behalf. But he didn't want to risk losing Ron's friendship, so instead he joined somewhat half-heartedly in the laughter of his classmates.

So it was that, several hours later, the three young Gryffindors stood in the wreckage of the third floor girl's bathroom, an unconscious mountain troll at their feet, and several irate grown-ups glaring at them - amongst whom were Professors McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore.

Professor McGonagall had scolded them all roundly before deducting 10 points from Hermione and then, much to Harry's confusion, giving 5 points each to him and Ron. The children had then been ordered to go straight to bed.

Throughout his Head of House's tirade, and the dispensing of her rather strange kind of justice, Harry had been increasingly aware of the fact that Professor Snape was glaring at him - just him, not the others, definitely just at Harry. Harry knew, with sickening certainty, what this meant. So when, as he tried to slip out of the room past his nemesis, Snape laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, bringing him to an abrupt halt, he was not at all surprised.

"Mr Potter," came the cold silky voice, "you will come with me. We are going to have a little discussion."

END OF CHAPTER 8


	9. Meltdown

Chapter 9 : Meltdown

Harry was completely convinced that this was the end. Snape had been the one who brought him to Hogwarts, and Snape was going to be the one who sent him back to the Dursleys. It was all over..... and now that the time had come, Harry was terrified at the prospect. He knew with a dreadful certainty that, after what his Professor had done to Aunt Marge and Uncle Vernon, his return to Privet Drive would be distinctly unpleasant. More than unpleasant - Uncle Vernon was going to kill him!

As he stumbled along in his Professor's wake, struggling to keep up with the tall man's angry strides, Harry felt the tears beginning to well. No! He was not going to cry! He would not let this man see how much it mattered that he was being sent away. If you let them see how much they can hurt you, they will hurt you even more. That was one of the lessons he had learnt the hard way from life with the Dursleys.

It took Harry a few minutes to realise that they were not heading for Snape's office. Instead, they passed his office door, then carried on past the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and up a spiral staircase. Snape stopped at the top, took out his wand and opened the door with a muttered "Alohamora". Holding the door open silently, he gestured to Harry to go through the door ahead of him. Once both had entered, he closed the door firmly behind him. To Harry, the dull thud of the door closing sounded like a death knell.

As Harry stared around him through a veil of tears, which had now broken loose and were coursing silently down his cheeks, his Professor made his way over to a large dark green leather sofa, and sat down. Turning his stern gaze towards the child still hovering near the doorway, he stretched out one imperious hand towards him and gave the order "Come here, Mr Potter!"

It was only then that he noticed the emotional state the child was in. Tipping his head to one side, he gave Harry a quizzical look, whilst simultaneously indicating with his raised hand that he was still waiting to be obeyed. Despite the distress he was feeling, Harry somehow knew that a failure to comply with his Professor's command would only make matters worse, and so he stumbled forward, now almost blinded by his tears, until the feel of Snape's hands resting on his shoulders told him that he had reached the sofa.

It was too much! Harry knew that it would not change the dreadful fate that awaited him, and might serve to anger his Professor even further, but he had to try! He had to break his own rule, and make this man see just how much it mattered to him what happened now.

"Please!" he begged, sobbing now with the effort of controlling his fear. "Please, don't send me away! I promise, I won't skip class anymore, or mess about with Ron, or be rude or cheeky or..... Oh, please! I wanna stay here! P...Pl..Pleeese! Don't send me back to the D..D...Dursleys!"

Stunned by the child's words, Snape stared in amazement at the flushed face now inches from his own, those hypnotic green eyes now flooded with desperate tears. What the devil was the boy talking about? Send him away? Send him back to the Dursleys? Did he really think...... but from the state he was working himself into it was clear that the foolish child really did believe it.

"What nonsense is this?" he demanded, giving the child's shoulders a little shake.

"Do you really think that I went to all the effort of bringing you here, and the aggravation of dealing with that blasted idiot Cornelius Fudge and his annoying little cronies at Muggle Services, just to stand by and see you handed back into the clutches of those monsters at the first sign of trouble?"

Harry stared back at him, the tears falling hard and fast now, his breath coming in great gulps, and unable to respond because he didn't even understand half of what his Professor was saying.

Suddenly Snape realised, with a dreadful certainty, what the source of Harry's confusion must be. With a sense of resignation at what was to come, he slipped his hand down from the child's shoulders to rest more securely around his waist, pulling him closer until the child was pressed up against his knees, then asked gently "Harry, what exactly did Professor Dumbledore say to you about staying at Hogwarts?"

*******

FLASHBACK

It was the afternoon of Harry's second day at Hogwarts. After what Poppy Pomfrey had noticed about Harry's behaviour the previous day, and the distress caused by Molly's mention of a birthday party in his honour, it was clear to those around him that Harry was in a very delicate emotional state, and that he needed some kind of reassurance about his future.

At their emergency meeting the day before, the members of the Order of the Phoenix had agreed that, for his own safety, it would be best for Harry to remain at Hogwarts for the present. Admittedly this agreement had only been reached after a very heated debate, since Molly and Arthur Weasley had insisted at first that of course the child should go to live with them. In the end, they had only backed down when forced to see the reality of the situation thanks to Snape's coldly clinical words...

"You know as well as I do, Molly, that if Death Eaters arrived at the Burrow tomorrow and tried to take Harry, you and Arthur would give your lives to protect him, just as surely as his own parents did. But do you have the right to make that sacrifice on behalf of your children too?"

So it was agreed that Harry would join the incoming first years, despite being two years their junior. It was hoped that, by the end of the school year, a suitable guardian would have been found, and the necessary wards put in place to protect both adult and child alike from Voldemort's remaining followers.

It had been left to Professor Dumbledore, at his own request, to advise Harry of what was planned for him.

"So then, Harry" he had smiled, as he proffered a bon-bon dish full of various types of sweet, "are you looking forward to your birthday party, hmm? Always loved birthday parties myself.... even though everyone always seems to want to buy me books! Just once, just once mind you, I wish they'd buy me something a little less useful. What do you think?"

Having been summoned unexpectedly to his Headmaster's study, Harry had been too nervous to respond. So he simply sat there in silence, the dish of bon-bons lying forgotten in his lap, his mouth a wide "O" of bemusement.

"Then you've got all the excitement of school supplies and so forth – Poppy will see to that with you. Need to get it sorted pretty pronto, what with classes starting on Monday."

Still no response from Harry, who continued to stare at his Headmaster as a whirlwind of confused thoughts swept though his mind, none of which he dared put into words. What did the Professor mean? Was he going to stay here? At Hogwarts? Was he going to learn how to do magic? Did he not have to go back to the Dursleys? Ever?

"Yes, well", Dumbledore continued in his usual rambling fashion, " just thought you'd like to know that it's all been arranged"........ " about you and the Dursleys I mean," he went on, as the child continued to stare at him in perplexed silence. "No need to worry. Won't be seeing them again for quite some time, I can tell you!"

Dumbledore was getting into his stride now, confident that Harry understood what he meant – after all, the Dursleys had been arrested for child abuse and neglect, and would not be allowed near any children for a long time to come. And it went without saying that they would never be allowed custody of Harry again. Not that he said any of this to Harry – no need to upset the boy, after all. He might still have some feelings for his relatives, what with them being family and all that. So he had left it at that, and had cheerfully sent Harry on his way, blissfully unaware that he had left the child with so many questions ananswered.

END FLASHBACK

*******

Taking the child's chin gently but firmly in his grasp, Snape looked Harry straight in the eye and said, slowly and carefully "You are never going back to the Dursleys. They were cruel, and unkind, and will never be allowed to look after a child again. This is your home now Harry, and will continue to be so until a loving guardian can be found to take care of you....."

His left hand slid upwards, to rest on the little boy's flushed and tear-drenched cheek, as he continued ... " and no matter how silly, or naughty, or troublesome you are, I will not allow anyone to send you away from here! Is that understood? "

At these words, Harry gave a great sob, and collapsed against his Professor, as waves of relief swept over him. With an exasperated sigh, knowing that things were about to get extremely messy, Severus Snape, the cold-hearted Death Eater, hated and feared by every child in the school, lifted the still far too thin little body, and placed Harry gently in his lap. At once, the child buried his face in his Professor's robes, as he had done that very first day, and clung to him with a desperation born of total emotional meltdown.

"Hush now, you foolish child", came the silky smooth tones, "of course you are staying here! Where else would you go? Hush! You are with me now!"

Unsure if these last words had even been heard, but instinctively knowing that what the child needed right now was just to be held, that is precisely what he did. Lowering his head until his chin rested on the tousled head now lying against his heart, he cupped one hand against Harry's cheek, whilst tapping his other hand comfortingly on the sobbing child's back. "Hush, child!" he continued to intone gently every now and then, but saying nothing more than that.

END OF CHAPTER NINE


	10. In Control

Chapter 10 : In Control

At last, the sound of sobbing died away, as the emotions that had swept over Harry were slowly brought back under some semblance of control. As he gradually regained some degree of self-control, Harry became aware that he was being held against someone's chest, being gently rocked back and forth, as a soft voice murmured comfortingly in his ear. It felt so good, so warm and safe, that he never wanted it to end. Of course he knew he couldn't stay in this position for ever, but he wished for it anyway, just as every year on his birthday he had wished for someone, anyone, who would love him and want him the way his relatives loved and wanted their precious Dudley.

Finally, with a little sigh, he pushed gently away from the chest he had been nestled against, and struggled to sit up. In response, he felt the arms that had enfolded him so tightly begin to fall away. Then he felt large hands placed gently but firmly around his waist, as he was lifted off his comforter's lap, and placed beside him on the leather sofa. Instantly, he regretted his decision to leave the safety of those arms, as a hand reached out to seize his chin, forcing him to look up into his Professor's stern face.

"Well then, Mr Potter," came the silky smooth voice, "now that we have got that nonsense out of the way, perhaps you would care to explain to me just exactly what you were doing anywhere near that troll?"

Snape was very much in control again, once more the stern-faced professor feared by one and all, he assured himself with great satisfaction, as he noticed the apprehensive look that instantly flashed across the child's face. However, he also noticed how dirty and wet that thin little face was, following the recent meltdown, and reacted instinctively by reaching for the box of tissues which lay on the table behind the sofa, and placing it on the child's knees, accompanying his actions with the terse command to "Blow your nose, for pity's sake, child!"

Harry did as he was told, then proceeded to scrub at his eyes as well, trying in vain to remove all traces of his foolish tears. When his Professor reached out and firmly removed the remnants of crumpled tissue from his hand, he found himself forced to look up again into that stern face, aware that the time had come to face his fate.

"The troll, Mr Potter?" came a gentle reminder, as the box of tissues was also whisked away, and his Professor's hand came to rest in it's place on Harry's knee. Somehow, the return of that physical contact gave Harry the courage he needed to speak.

As he stammered his way through his tale of woe, Harry knew that even to his own ears it sounded pathetic. He had absolutely no excuse for going after Hermione. He should have just told Percy, or one of the other prefects, where she was, then followed Professor Dumbledore's command to go to his common room and stay there. He should never have talked Ron into going with him, putting his friend in danger just because he was afraid to go alone. Then, when he had realised that Hermione was already being stalked by the troll, he should have gone for adult help, or convinced Ron to do so, not dashed in there with no thought about what two untrained boys could realistically do to save her. And worst of all, as far as Harry was concerned, he had allowed Hermione to lie for him, letting her take the blame for his actions just because he was so terrified of being sent away.

As Snape listened to these faltering words, he found himself reliving how he had felt when, attracted by the children's screams, he had hurtled down several flights of stairs and corridors before bursting into that bathroom, just behind the headmaster, to find this child standing over the prostrate form of one of the largest mountain trolls he had ever seen. For some reason he could not fathom, his instincts had told him to pull the child to him, to hold him close and reassure him that he was safe now, but together with this had come the desire to take him by the scruff of the neck and smack his backside soundly for putting himself in such danger in the first place! It had taken all his self-control to stay where he was as Minerva dealt with the three children, and he felt sure that, had she punished them properly for their foolish behaviour, he could have stayed well out of things. Then the foolish woman had rewarded Harry! Rewarded him! For almost getting himself killed! And not for the first time, either.......

FLASHBACK.......

It was the second week of term, and Snape had been visiting with Hagrid that afternoon. On his way back to the castle he had suddenly remembered that the first years were to have their first flying lessons today. He knew that Draco Malfoy would have been receiving flying lessons from an early age, but was interested to see if his classmates showed any promise in this area. Although too young to play Quidditch for their houses until at least the third year (a safety rule which had been imposed by the Ministry following a serious incident involving a second year Hufflepuff), he knew that the more able flyers in the lower school were usually invited to join Madam Hooch's "Flying Squad". It was a matter of pride for Professor Snape that so many of his little snakes were usually invited to join this elite band, and he was keen to see how many would make it through this term.

As he turned into the courtyard in which they were to practice, however, Snape realised that not only was Rolanda Hooch conspicuous by her absence, but that Draco Malfoy was flying down towards the ground at speed and there, up in the air, travelling at full tilt towards one of the castle towers, was none other than Harry Potter! As he watched in horror, the child screeched to a halt only centimetres from the brickwork of the tower, and carried out a 360 degree spin in mid-air, reaching out a hand in the split second when he was hanging upside down on his broom, and snatching something out of the air, before righting himself, then heading down to join his classmates, who were now cheering and waving their brooms in the air.

Horror at what he had just witnessed kept the potions master glued to the spot for a fraction too long, because by the time he had spurred himself into action, stalked across the courtyard, and forced his way through the raucous crowd of children, he found himself forestalled by Minerva's untimely arrival, and was forced to leave disciplining the Potter brat to his Head of House. He had been horrified to learn, later that day, that the "punishment" Harry had received had consisted of a coveted place in the Flying Squad, along with the promise of a broom of his very own if he worked hard at squad practice all term! An attempt on his part to remonstrate with Minerva ...."But the blasted child could have killed himself! How will he learn to think before he acts if you insist on rewarding such foolhardiness?" had met with little more than a shrug of the shoulders. Turning to Dumbledore had been worse than useless...."My dear boy, if you don't think Minerva is handling the situtation properly, you are, of course, welcome to step in! After all, it was you who brought Harry here, and you know how he looks up to you!"

END FLASHBACK

***********

Severus had come to a decision. A decision which would have serious implications for many people, but most of all for himself and for the tear-stained child now seated beside him, gazing trustfully up at him. He knew beyond all doubt that he was the one who had to keep this child safe, at any cost, even if that cost were his very soul.

The logical part of his mind, the part that he had long ago trained himself to listen to in total isolation from any and all emotional reactions, was still telling him that this was a mistake. This was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. This was Lord Voldemort's nemesis, who had stood against the Dark Lord, where so many powerful witches and wizards had failed, at the tender age of just 14 months. Should, heaven forbid, the Dark One ever rise again, this child would be his first target. And if, as many fervently hoped, Voldemort was truly dead, the child might still be in danger at the hands one of his erstwhile followers. For surely, as Dumbledore himself once reasoned, the destruction of this child would be seen by many as an important step in any attempt to seize the power their former Master had once craved?

It was eight years now since the night he had crawled into Dumbledore's office, exhausted and disorientated by pain, confusion and guilt at the dreadful things Voldemort had forced him to see and to do. He had wept in his mentor's arms, as he confessed to all he had done since that dark night in his late teens when first he had offered his allegiance to the Dark Lord. To his eternal relief, Dumbledore had not only forgiven him, but had offered him a chance to redeem himself. Since then he had been Dumbledore's "man on the inside", first with Voldemort himself and then, latterly, with his loyal followers such as Lucius Malfoy.

He was not a fool, and he knew that everything he had done for the past eight years to protect his position as a spy for the Order would be jeopardised were it to become known to the likes of Lucius Malfoy that he was protecting the Potter brat. But someone had to protect him, from himself as much as anything else, and nobody else was taking the task seriously enough. So, it was up to Snape to step up to the mark, and to hell with the consequences. Lily's child needed him!

Realising that the child had stopped talking, and was gazing fearfully at him, whilst biting nervously on his lower lip, Snape took a deep breath and began to speak.

"I assume, young man, that you are aware of how foolish you have been tonight?"

"Y...Yes sir!" came the whispered response.

"And I also assume that you realise you could have got yourself, or one of your friends, killed as a result of your foolishness?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then all that remains," came the stern response "is for me to inform you of your punishment."

Harry drew in a sharp breath as his Professor continued. "As of this moment, you are hereby grounded for a period of one week! This means that, when you are not in class, study hall, or at a meal, you will remain in your common room. You will not visit the owlery, or Hagrid's hut, or go down to the lake, unless accompanied either by one of the prefects, or by a member of staff. In addition, you will lose all your priveleges, including attendance at Flying Squad training sessions. In short, you will study, you will eat, and you will sleep. Nothing more. Is that fully understood?"

Stunned by the all-encompassing nature of his punishment, Harry was able to do nothing more than nod his head, as he tried to take it all in. No flying! No Hagrid! And no Hedwig?? How would he go a whole week without visiting his beloved owl?

"In addition, you will compose for me a three foot essay on mountain trolls, with specific reference to how best they can be controlled," his Professor went on.

"And finally," Snape continued, once more capturing Harry's chin and forcing him to make eye contact as he made this last stern pronouncement, "if I ever see or hear of you deliberately placing yourself in danger again, I will turn you over my knee and spank you!"

At this, Harry's eyes went wide with shock. Spank him! Oh no, he couldn't mean it! Could he? But the look his Professor was giving him left Harry in no doubt that he was as serious about this as he was about the grounding. Harry had never been spanked - his relatives tended to hand out casual slaps and punches, but had on the whole preferred to avoid physical contact with Harry, but he had spent enough time with the Weasleys over the past few weeks, and heard enough tales of Fred and George's many misdeeds, to know that not only were spankings still a very common form of discipline in the wizarding world, but that they were definitely something to be avoided!

Snape smiled to himself as he observed Harry's reaction to his warning - the child would be best to avoid playing poker, his feelings were so easy to read in his face!

"Well now," he said finally, standing up and pulling Harry to his feet in one swift movement, "it is very late, and high time you were in bed. You will therefore go straight to Gryffindor tower, and thence directly to bed - no stopping to boast to your fellow lions about defeating the troll, or about surviving a private discussion with the "bat of the dungeons"! Is that clear?"

The look on Harry's face when he said this was a source of great satisfaction to his Professor, but nothing more was said by either of them as Snape opened the door, and sent Harry on his way to bed with a firm smack across his unsuspecting bottom. A surprised little yelp resounded in the stairwell as he closed the door, smirking to himself as he pictured the brat rubbing his now stinging backside whilst making his way down the stairs. Severus Snape was, most definitely, in control!

END OF CHAPTER 10


	11. Grounded!

Chapter 11: Grounded!

Harry was the last to go. The others had all taken the long route, going left past the massive clump of fir trees, and thus avoiding getting any closer than six feet away from the Whomping Willow, despite the time penalty which this route imposed. Definitely a wise move, because that monster of a tree was lashing its great branches feverishly around as the youngsters soared safely past it, clearly frustrated at being denied what it most craved - human flesh and bones to tear asunder in its evil grasp.

So far, the fastest lap had been made by Draco Malfoy, on his brand new Nimbus 2000, a present from his father as a reward for making it into the Flying Squad. It had only arrived a few days ago, and had been the indirect cause of today's little contest. Annoyed that, as usual, Malfoy had the best of everything, Ron had angrily informed the boasting Draco that "just cos your Dad bought you the best broom doesn't make you the best rider! Harry's only nine and he's already miles better'n you!"

Harry himself had no doubt who the best flyer in the first year was - and it wasn't him! He was well aware that Draco had been given his first broomstick almost as soon as he could sit unaided, and had spent hours every summer practising dives and turns under the watchful gaze of his proud Papa. Harry's pre-Hogwarts experience of brooms had been in relation to their usefulness for sweeping floors or, on occasion, for hitting small children who made the mistake of getting under their Aunt Petunia's feet in the kitchen. Admittedly, he had been quite flattered by Professor McGonagall's praise of his natural ability, and was proud of being the youngest ever member of the Flying Squad. But Harry was an inherently honest child, and had found himself admitting to Hermione that, had Draco been given the opportunity at nine to try out for the Squad, he would doubtless have passed "with flying colours".

Egged on by Fred and George, Ron had unfortunately made the whole "who's the best flyer" business into a matter of House honour. Thus, before Harry really knew what was happening, a totally unofficial Inter-House cross-country broomstick contest had been organised, open only to first years, and to be carried out in complete secret - Fred's suggestion, since he was sure that if the prefects or professors got wind of it, they would forbid it out of hand. Originally quite relaxed about taking part, Harry was horrified when he realised that the great event had been arranged for that Saturday afternoon - a full 24 hours before his grounding was due to end.

It had taken every last ounce of Fred and George's famous persuasiveness to get Harry to agree to turn up that afternoon - admittedly this task had been made somewhat easier when he had learnt earlier that morning that Professor Snape had been called away to deal with a medical emergency at St Mungo's, in his capacity as Britain's foremost Potions Master, and was not expected back before nightfall. So with the coast, if not his conscience, clear, Harry had donned his new Gryffindor flying robes and headed out with his friends towards the area between the lake and the Forbidden Forest, to defend the honour of his House.

As Dean Thomas came in to land, the loud groans from the Gryffindor time-keepers confirmed that Malfoy remained in first place, with only Harry left to fly. It was at this moment that Harry decided to throw caution to the wind. He knew that his second-hand school-issue broomstick had no chance of achieving the kind of speeds possible for Malfoy's Nimbus 2000, which meant that the only way he could produce a faster overall time was to take the short-cut past the Whomping Willow.

Hermione had surprised everyone by electing to take part in the competition, despite its rule-breaking nature, and had surprised some of them even more by putting in an exceptional performance, which had placed her in joint fifth place with Ron! After the incident with the troll, she had decided to try a little harder to fit in with her classmates, and it had been a source of undiluted joy to her when, as she came in to land after her flight, Ron had grabbed hold of her in an excited hug and yelled "Wow! Hermione! You're a flying ace and no mistake!" But Hermione was first and foremost an academic, who had automatically been calculating broom speeds, and like Harry had just worked out the only way he could possibly win. So it was with her cries of "Harry James Potter, don't you dare go anywhere near that awful tree!" ringing in his ears that Harry had kicked off from the ground and headed towards the starting point.

As Harry reached the halfway point in the allotted route, and his "time to date" figures were flashed up in the sky ahead of him, he quickly calculated that in order to be certain of victory he had to fly within inches of the Whomping Willow's grasp – any further away, and the angle of the turn would be insufficient to make up enough time, and he would be doomed to failure.

Taking a deep breath, he swerved right instead of left, and headed inexorably towards the dreaded tree, which seemed to sense his approach, and began to thrash about in an even more feverish manner. The spectators on the ground, realising what Harry was attempting to do, began to scream in a mixture of delight and terror, as the little boy's broom sped directly towards the Whomping Willow, then screeched to a halt a mere inch from it's nearest branches, before turning at a sharp angle to swing past on the left and soar safely away, crossing the finish line a full 11 seconds ahead of Draco's time!

Ecstatic, Harry turned his broom towards the crowd of children below him, almost all of whom were now screaming and yelling his name in delight – Harry Potter had won, and the oh-so-superior Slytherins would be forced to eat their words!

Draco himself, although sick to the stomach at the thought of the merciless teasing he would be forced to endure as a result of his defeat, nevertheless remembered his pure-blood manners, and stepped forward with his hand out, ready to congratulate the victor. Harry, surprised but gratified that Malfoy had turned out to be such a good loser, was puzzled when, as he took Draco's hand, the flaxen-haired boy suddenly turned pale, staring off across Harry's left shoulder towards the castle, then muttered "Oh my God! We are so dead!"

Harry instinctively knew at what, or more properly at whom, Draco was looking, and so it took all of his courage to let Draco's hand fall, and turn to meet his doom. There, striding purposefully across the grass towards them, his billowing black robes flying up behind him like the wings of the bat after which he was often named, was none other than Professor Snape!

***********

Snape had been in a surprisingly good mood when he had returned to Hogwarts that afternoon. Things had gone far more smoothly than expected at St Mungo's, and all eight young patients were set to make a swift and complete recovery from their accidental poisoning at the hands of their doddery old grandmother. The old lady in question had been distraught at what might so easily have happened, and when Snape was leaving she was talking earnestly to the authorities about placing her precious grandchildren into care.

On his return to Hogwarts, Snape had felt inspired to go in search of Harry, intent on offering the child the chance to join him in a visit to the owlery. He knew how much the child had missed his precious Hedwig this past week, and on visiting the owl himself the night before had gained the distinct impression that the owl was missing the child just as keenly. He was not a cruel man - well, not unless it was necessary in order to maintain his cover with the death eaters - and Harry had behaved well all week. Admittedly his mountain troll essay had been abysmally written - almost illegible in fact - but it had clearly been worked on with great enthusiasm. The use of hand-drawn illustrations to "pad" the somewhat bald text had, Snape felt somewhat amusedly, been almost Slytherin in its cunning ability to legitimately achieve the desired target length! Such behaviour should, he had reasoned to himself, bring its own reward. Hence the proposed trip to the owlery.

When it had become clear that not only had Harry left his common room without permission, but that almost the entire lower school was missing, Snape swiftly put two and two together and reached the conclusion that trouble was in the offing, and that Harry Potter was once again up to his eyes in it. He had been on his way to Hagrid's hut to see if he knew what was going on, when he had heard cheering and yelling coming from near the lake.

Snape had turned the corner just in time to see Harry's suicidal dive towards the Whomping Willow, and his heart had almost stopped as the foolish child came within an inch of death for the second time in less than a week. That was it! This time, he was going to kill the little brat himself!

***********

As Snape swept forwards, clearly incandescant with rage, students fell over themselves to get out of his way. It was obvious from the way he was glaring at Harry that it was upon the unfortunate Victor Ludorum that his wrath was about to fall. Although they felt great sympathy for their friend, they knew better than to stand between their Potions Professor and his intended disciplinary target. And so it was that the entire lower school stood in absolute silence as Professor Snape wordlessly held out his hand for Harry's broom, shrunk it to the size of the palm of his hand, and placed it in his pocket, before pointing imperiously back towards the castle with the one word command "March!"

Harry began to feel physically sick. The man was going to kill him! He was really and truly going to kill him - and there was nobody here to stop him. They had reached Snape's private quarters, still in complete silence, and as Harry heard the door thud closed behind him he jumped at the sudden noise. He then watched in morbid fascination as Professor Snape walked across to the far corner of his sitting room and slowly removed his long black robes, hanging them carefully on the ornate wooden coatstand which stood there, before turning away towards the other side of the room, pausing en route to demand "Take off your robes and hang them up..... Leave your muddy shoes by the door first!"

By the time Harry, whose usual dexterity appeared to have been unaccountably reduced to all fingers and thumbs, had accomplished these tasks, Snape had taken a seat behind his antique desk, which was piled high with books and parchments, and was watching the child closely, as he struggled to maintain a somewhat fragile control over his anger.

"Come here!" came the peremptory command.

Taking a large gulp of air, Harry somehow managed to force his feet to obey, as he slowly made his way across what now seemed to be so wide a space, and ended up standing directly in front of his Professor's desk, staring nervously down at his sock-clad feet.

"Look at me!"

Raising he eyes apprehensively, Harry found himself caught in the beam of his Professor's angry glare. Pinned there by the force of those eyes, he watched in trembling fascination as Snape leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desktop and steepling his fingers, before pressing his lips contemplatively against his forefingers, all the while maintaining eye contact with Harry.

As the silence stretched out ominously before him, Harry became more and more frantic, now biting nervously on his lower lip, and clutching at his sweatshirt as he fought the growing desire to turn and run. Those eyes, so dark and penetrating, seemed to be gazing directly into his very soul. Why couldn't Snape just start yelling at him, and get it over with? Harry was used to yelling - Uncle Vernon had one of the loudest voices Harry had ever heard, and had been yelling at Harry for one reason or another for as long as he could remember! But this was so much worse - this silent stare, this calm and quiet assessment, this look of dispassionate disappointment, which made Harry want to do nothing so much as to burst into tears.

At long last, Snape removed his fingers from in front of his face, leant back into his chair and asked, in a deathly quiet voice, "Tell me, Mr Potter, why do you think I am angry with you right now?"

Harry stared at him in amazement...... what was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to apologise for breaking the terms of his grounding? Or justify his reasons? Either way, he knew that he was in more trouble with this man now than he had ever been before – and that included the night of the troll incident!

"Erm...." came the not too auspicious start, as Harry dropped his head to look down once more at his socks, and began rubbing the toes of his left foot nervously across the carpet in front of him.

"As eloquent as ever, I see" was the sardonic response, followed automatically by the curt order to "Look at me when I am talking to you!"

Harry's head shot back up, only to discover that Snape was once more leaning towards him, his chin now resting on one hand, and those eyes boring into him again.

"I......I know I shouldn't have been flying when I was grounded!" he began...... "but you see, Ron said I was a better flyer than Draco, and Draco has this new Nimbus 2000, and Fred and George said...."

Harry's voice trailed off, as Snape shot to his feet, finally yelling "GROUNDED!" before moving swiftly round the desk, grabbing Harry by the scruff of the neck and hauling him across the room. Stunned at the change in Snape's demeanour, Harry suddenly found himself standing with his nose pressed into a corner, as his Professor crouched down at his side and hissed angrily into his ear "You will stay there, Mr Potter, and you will think about what you have done wrong today. Something about which you were expressly warned, by me, less than one week ago. And let me assure you now that it has nothing to do with the fact that you are currently grounded. Believe me when I tell you that we will be dealing with that aspect of your behaviour later!"

Snape then stood up, and marched away across the room, halting when he reached the fireplace to lay one hand, clenched like a fist, on the mantle, the fingers of his other hand reaching up to claw their way backwards through his hair as he fought to control his temper. How could the blasted child be so blissfully unaware of what he had done? Did his own safety really mean so little to the brat that he did not think anyone would be concerned for him?

As his temper slowly cooled, Snape realised that it was probably closer to the truth to say that it was hardly surprising if the child did not think anyone would be concerned for him! For the past seven years this child had been at best ignored and at worst abused by those in whose "care" he had been placed. Nobody had ever seemed to care what happened to Harry, and so Harry did not care either. Well, it was high time he was made to realise that, not only were there people who cared about him, but that those people would no longer stand idly by whilst Harry risked life and limb at a whim!

In his corner, Harry had remained stunned at first by Snape's pronouncement, but as the silent minutes ticked away several monumentally important thoughts occurred to him. Snape was angry with him, that had been clear from the outset, but now Harry realised that he was angry not just because Harry had flown his broom whilst grounded, but because he had pulled that stunt with the Whomping Willow. He was angry because Harry could have been hurt! He cared about the fact that Harry could have been hurt! A small smile played across Harry's face as this thought came to him, to be abruptly wiped away when the next thought came.... Snape had warned him, last week, what would happen if Harry put himself in danger again! Oh no! Snape was going to.....

Having reached this stage in his thought process, Harry turned his head to one side, trying to ascertain where his Professor was, only to find Snape staring at him from across the room, a look of grim determination on his face.

"I assume that you have remembered the details of our last discussion?" came the stern voice, as Snape headed towards the leather sofa, hitching his trouser legs up slightly in a fastidious manner as he took his seat, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.

Harry nodded miserably, turning round fully to face his Professor, his heart now hammering against his chest as panic began to rise, certain now what was about to happen and knowing that there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

Snape raised one hand and crooked his finger imperiously in Harry's direction. His meaning was all too clear. Without a word, Harry stumbled slowly across the room to stand before his Professor with his head bowed, looking down at the trouser clad knees in front of him. Moments later, he was afforded an even better view of those trousers, as he found himself face down across Snape's lap.

END OF CHAPTER 11


	12. Consequences

Chapter 12 : Consequences

Snape sat calmly on the sofa, his long legs stretched out languorously in front of him, his feet crossed, and his left arm comfortably draped around the shoulder of the child curled up at his side. His right hand was absent-mindedly caressing the tousled head pressed against him, as he spoke softly of the benefits of a good night's sleep for those wishing to put past mistakes firmly behind them.

Harry snuggled in closer against his Professor, enjoying yet again the sensation of being held in someone's comforting embrace. This was the longest embrace he had received from Snape so far, although the few minutes which had come just before it had been distinctly less pleasant. Remembering them now, Harry surreptitiously reached back and gave his bottom a reflective rub. That had really hurt!

Noticing the tell-tale movement, Snape smirked to himself, then paused in his speech to enquire innocently "How are you feeling now, Potter? A little better, I trust?"

"You spanked me!" came the indignant reply, although any charge of child cruelty which might have been implied by this statement was diluted somewhat by the fact that the aggrieved accuser still had his head buried in his tormentor's chest.

"Yes, I did. And you deserved it, young man!" was the firm response from his clearly unrepentant Professor.

"Humph!" muttered Harry, looking up at Snape and sticking his tongue out cheekily, only to regret the action moments later when Snape's hand came down firmly across his still smarting bottom.

"If I see that tongue again, I will cut it out and use it in one of my potions!" came the stern warning.

Harry looked up quickly into his Professor's face, but since the look he saw there belied the sternness of the words, he gave a satisfied little sigh and snuggled up once more against Snape's chest.

"Cheeky brat!" thought Snape, shaking his head at the sight of the tousled figure at his side, making himself comfortable again when he should have been hastily stammering apologies for his rudeness! Such audacity would not be tolerated, he decided, as his traitorous hand descended to sweep the child's mess of hair out of his eyes. This would not do - anyone would think he enjoyed having the brat attached to him like a leech!

Nothing ever seemed to turn out as he expected where this child was concerned. So he had spanked him! So what! He had been the Head of Slytherin House for six years now, and in that time had found it necessary to discipline countless students in the same way. There had been tears and howls from most of them, sometimes of anger but usually of remorse, invariably accompanied by fervent promises of better behaviour in the future. Throughout each encounter, however, the one thing that been unswervingly consistent had been Snape's reaction. He had remained impassive, no matter how desperately the child across his knee howled and kicked as his hand rose and fell, imparting what was always a very thorough spanking, applied in such a way that the sting lasted just long enough to ensure the lesson had sunk in, but not long enough to denote any actual injury. His duty done, he would then set the child on his / her feet, utter a stern warning of a repeat performance if it was deemed necessary, and then finally grant a swift embrace denoting the gift of forgiveness and a clean slate, followed by a curt dismissal. But with Harry, the entire process had been far more complicated.

Snape had not been surprised when Harry began to cry. What did surprise him was his own reaction to the shuddering sobs. He had gritted his teeth, refusing to be swayed from the task in hand. The child had to be taught a lesson! He had to learn to think before throwing himself in harms way! Reminding himself of what he had felt when he saw Harry inches from the grip of that blasted tree, Snape had carried on grimly, forcing himself to shut out the sound as the child's sobs had continued in a great crescendo of grief. His relief when he had completed the application of the dozen firm smacks he normally considered sufficient when dealing with his first years was palpable. However, relief quickly turned to dismay when their cessation did nothing to decrease the passionate sobbing of the child currently lying across his knee, clinging in desperation to his Professor's trouser legs. An attempt to set the child on his feet having been forestalled by Harry's vice-like grip on his clothing, he had resorted instead to gently patting his back, all the while murmuring some foolish nonsense like "Hush now, child! It's all over. Don't cry.......... It's all right, little one. I'm not angry with you any more!"

It had taken a great deal of time and even more patience before the sobs had gradually begun to lessen, and he had finally been able to prize the child loose. He had then placed Harry gently beside him on the sofa, held securely in a comforting embrace, which was where he had remained ever since, stuck to his fearsome Professor like a little limpet!

It was definitely time to reassert himself as the school's sternest disciplinarian. If things went on like this, then there was every danger that the appalling child would decide that not only had the spanking been a mere aberration, but that his Potions Professor could be cheeked with impunity, and that his punishments need not be taken seriously. Thus reminded that he had not as yet addressed Harry's other offences, he gently but firmly disengaged himself from the child's embrace, and stood up, walking calmly across the room and seating himself once more behind his desk.

Once he had been denied the tangible comfort of his Professor's proximity, it was the work of moments for Harry's usual insecurities to return to the fore, and he instantly began to worry. What next? Was Snape really angry about the tongue business? He knew he shouldn't have done that, he didn't know what had come over him, and he would have done absolutely anything right now to take back that brief moment of foolishness! Even as he began to work himself back up into a state of panic, Harry continued to watch closely as Snape opened the top drawer of his desk, removed a quill and a fresh piece of parchment, and began to write.

What was he writing? Was he writing to Professor McGonagall, or maybe Professor Dumbledore, asking that he be removed from school? No - he had promised Harry that he could stay here! He had promised!.... Just as he had promised to spank him if he put himself in danger. Well he had definitely kept that promise - and oh how Harry wished he had not! - So why would he fail to keep his other promises?

"Come here, Mr Potter!"

Uncurling his legs, Harry slipped down from the sofa, unconsciously rubbing his bottom as he got to his feet, and made his way hesitantly across the room to stand once more in front of his stern-faced Professor. Taking a deep breath, he looked up into those dark eyes, and awaited his fate.

"This is a note to Professor McGonagall", Snape began. Harry began to breathe more quickly as his worst fear seemed about to come to pass. "It informs her that, as a result of your disobedience earlier today, you will be grounded for a further 10 days."

Grounded? Harry's breathing relaxed visibly at these words........ He was not being sent away at all! And grounding was not that bad. But another 10 days? Oh no! Harry suddenly realised that if he was still grounded next Saturday, he would miss the first Inter-House competition for the Flying Squad! McGonagall was going to kill him! He opened his mouth to protest, only to be forestalled as Snape raised one admonitory finger.

"Be silent! I have not finished!"

Snape glared at the child, daring him to speak out of turn as he continued inexorably. "And since you clearly cannot be trusted to follow the terms of your grounding, you will be kept under close surveillance at all times. From the moment you wake in the morning to the moment you go to bed at night, you will be constantly in the company of either myself or another adult.

Furthermore, I am well aware of the undue influence being brought to bear by your intrepid housemates. Indeed, I will be discussing their part in today's little incident with Professor McGonagall later tonight! However, as a result of your clear inability to make sensible choices for yourself in the face of temptation, I am further informing Professor McGonagall that you will not be permitted entry to the Gryffindor tower for the duration of your punishment, but will instead spend all of your free time, as well as your study time, with me. Here. Where I can keep and eye, as well as a hand if necessary, on you at all times. In short, young man, you will be moving in with me, and heaven help you if you put so much as a toe out of line whilst you are here!"

Stunned, Harry stared open-mouthed at his Professor. Stay here? In Snape's quarters? Did that include night-time? Well, it must do if he wasn't allowed to go to Gryffindor tower. But where would he sleep? On the sofa? Where did Snape sleep? Would he have to share? And how did Snape know about the constant badgering he had suffered this past week at the hands of Fred and George? How did he know how desperately Harry had wanted to please the other Gryffindors - even when he knew that what they were asking him to do was wrong?

Watching with grim satisfaction as this torrent of confused thoughts swept across the child's face, Snape congratulated himself that he had once more reasserted himself as the guiding force in this relationship. Harry had been left in no doubt as to who was in charge around here, and once word spread throughout the school regarding the all-encompassing nature of the punishment meted out to its youngest member, the other students would be reminded once more of the dangers of disobeying Severus Snape!

Of course, he mused somewhat smugly, the fact that everyone would know this was a punishment meant that, were word of Harry's change in circumstances to reach the likes of Lucius Malfoy, he would not for one moment question why the Potter brat was now living under what appeared to be the personal protection of one of the Dark Lord's most devoted disciples. In short, this was a job well done.

END OF CHAPTER 12


	13. Lessons Learned

Chapter 13 : Lessons Learned

Harry had been staying with Professor Snape for almost a week, and in that short time both adult and child had learnt a great deal, about themselves and about each other.

********

That first fateful afternoon, once he had informed Harry of his "ghastly fate", as it had later been dubbed by his fellow Gryffindors, Snape had sent his missive winging its way towards Professor McGonagall's office, and had then escorted Harry to Gryffindor tower, and stood over him as he dolefully packed his clothes and books together. This unpleasant task had just been completed, and the now shrunken cases placed in Snape's pocket, when the dormitory door was flung open and an irate Minerva McGonagall had stormed in.

The ensuing confrontation had been extremely unpleasant, as his Head of House proceeded to give Harry her unvarnished opinion of his behaviour. He had never seen her this angry before, and the fact that her comments were fully justified did not make listening to them any more pleasant. He had been through a great deal already today, though, and when McGonagall elected to change the topic of her tirade from his foolish disobedience to the impact his grounding would have on his house's chances in the upcoming Flying Squad meet, he promptly burst into tears. At this juncture Snape, who had sat quietly on Harry's bed watching with amused interest as Minerva finally tore one of her precious lions off a strip or two, decided that enough was enough. Without a word, he had stood up, taken the child's hand, and calmly exited the room with him, leaving his colleague staring after them in stunned silence.

Once back in Snape's quarters, his Professor had crouched down beside Harry, taken out his own handkerchief and silently dried the child's tears. Then, with a reassuring nod of his head, he had stood up and led the way to what was to become Harry's bedroom. No further mention was ever made of the encounter with McGonagall.

***********

By Wednesday evening, a routine had developed within their little "household" which seemed to suit both parties pretty well.

Harry was woken promptly at 7am by a firm tap on his bedroom door, accompanied by the words "Time to get up! Breakfast in twenty minutes!" A clean and more or less tidy child would slip hastily into his seat at the kitchen table just as the clock showed 7.20am, at which exact time his breakfast would be placed in front of him. Snape's insistence that breakfast was the most important meal of the day meant that not only was the emphasis heavy on nutritional value, rather than on taste, but Harry was not permitted to leave the table until his Professor felt that he had eaten enough of the right foods. When Harry had dared to question these rules, he had quickly learnt that it was better to start the day with a good breakfast than with a tedious ten minutes spent with his nose pressed into the nearest corner.

Snape had decided that since he would, of necessity, be spending so much one-to-one time with Harry over the next 10 days, he should take advantage of the opportunity offered to pay some long overdue attention to Harry's academic work.

Despite his perverse pleasure at Harry's cleverness in using pictures to fill up the space in his mountain troll essay, Snape was aware that the writing had, as he noted at the time, been almost illegible, as was the case with all of Harry's written work. The essay had actually been the cause of a heated discussion with Minerva about the child's need for remedial studies.

The child was, Snape had argued, being expected to work alongside students who had already completed their junior school education prior to acceptance at Hogwarts. In Muggle terms, he was a very young Year 5 working with Year 7 students. As far as Harry's magical abilities were concerned, his practical work had not so far presented any significant problems, although Snape was of the distinct impression that the child was holding back for some reason. When it came to theoretical work, however, Harry was struggling. Snape felt that, with a little more effort on Harry's part and a little one-to-one attention from certain of his professors, this problem could be more or less satisfactorily resolved. However, this would still leave the matter of the "three R's", at which he had no doubt Harry was way behind his classmate, and in which he should really be receiving individual tuition. Minerva had flatly refused, however, to countenance extra study time for the child, and so the matter had been shelved...... until now, that is!

After breakfast, bearing in mind the much-held theory that the mind is at its most receptive at the beginning of the day, he and Harry spent 45 minutes each morning working on basic mathematics. Initially appalled at the prospect, Harry had swiftly found that with Snape at his side, providing clear and simple explanations aimed specifically at Harry's level of understanding, even long division began to make sense. He was surprised at the stark difference he had noticed between the impatient, even unpleasant man he had watched intimidating his classmates twice a week in the dungeons of the castle, where the Potions lessons were conducted, and the man who sat by his side each morning, quietly explaining the rules of mathematics with such gentle patience.

Harry thought that perhaps he had been mistaken in his earlier assessment of Snape. Or maybe he had allowed the things that the Weasley children had told him when they had first met to influence him unfairly against the man who was doing so much to help him. He clearly remembered the serious talk on the topic of "undue influence" that had taken place before bed that first night.........

FLASHBACK

Harry had his very own room! True, it was small, and the walls were a rather depressing shade of dark green, but he had his own comfortable bed, plus a little wooden bedside cabinet, as well as a wardrobe and chest of drawers, the contents of which Professor Snape sternly advised him to keep tidy at all times. When term had begun, the other boys in his dormitory had taken to teasing Harry, to whom possessions of any kind were such a novelty, about his obsession for keeping his clothes carefully folded and stored away. As the term had worn on, his habits had become a little less fastidious, but if his Professor wanted things kept tidy, Harry was happy to comply.

Once he had unpacked, Harry had been summoned downstairs to the sitting room, and given a book, with strict orders to read quietly until dinner time. Harry had loved to read ever since the moment when, under the watchful eyes of Mrs Trelawney, his reception class teacher, letters had magically come together for the first time to form words. The solitary hours spent locked in the cupboard under the stairs instantly became more bearable when, thanks to the wonders of the school library, he had been joined there first by Biff & Chip then later by the likes of Paddington Bear, Willie Wonka, and of course his soulmate and fellow orphan, the brave and ingenious James Henry Trotter.

The book his Professor had handed him was a rather battered old copy of "Swallows and Amazons", and Harry was soon immersed in the adventures of the Walker children, John, Susan, Titty & Roger. He had never been anywhere near a sailing boat, but the skilful narrative soon swept him away to the Lake District of August 1929, where the children camped on an island, did battle with girl pirates, and lived on tins of pemmican, washed down by lashings of ginger beer, or "grog."

As Harry's nose disappeared behind the book, his feet curled up under him on the sofa, and the glass of pumpkin juice left untouched on the coffee table, Snape came to the conclusion that this child was indeed a mystery. In his experience, most boys, when ordered by a parent or teacher to spend their precious free time sitting quietly with a book, would either protest loudly, or spend the entire time huffing and puffing and fidgeting, until they got what they wanted as the adult in question cried "Oh, for goodness sake, run along and play! You're driving me mad!" But not Harry - he clearly loved to read, and as he watched the contented little face, those green eyes devouring the words of Arthur Ransome as eagerly as if they were chocolate coated, Snape was painfully reminded of Lily. Once a book had caught her attention young Lily Evans was no use to anyone until, with a satisfied sigh, she had reached the final page. Even then, Severus had always known that he could look forward to hours of discussion on the author, the characters and the plot, often accompanied by demands that Severus read the book too, so that they could hold a more informed discussion. The fact that this often meant he had to read yet another "girlie" book never mattered - he now had an excuse to monopolise Lily Evans' attention for a few blissful hours.

Supper had been a difficult time for Harry, who had found himself surrounded by anxious Gryffindors as soon as he entered the Great Hall. The last time they had seen Harry he had been in the clutches of their most feared Professor, and the news had since reached them that Harry was to remain captive in Snape's quarters for some time to come. Already feeling guilty about encouraging Harry to break bounds, the Weasley trio had, like Harry, been subjected to a tirade from Professor McGonagall, although in their case the main topic of discussion had been their failure to ensure the safety of their friend.

Filled with a mixture of remorse, embarrassment and annoyance at having clearly been labelled a "bad influence" on their little brother and his classmates, Fred and George tried to lighten the mood by gently teasing Harry about what it must be like staying with the "bat of the dungeons". Their lurid suggestions and unkind comments on the man's facial features caused raucous laughter from most of their peers, but Harry felt uncomfortable. True, Snape had spanked him, and scolded him, but he had also snatched him away when Professor McGonagall's harsh words were too much for him. Glancing across at the head table, he could see the two professors talking quietly together, and found himself wondering if he was the topic of their discussion. He was relieved when the meal ended, and he went to stand quietly by the door to await his Professor, who had halted en route to inform the Slytherins that all those who had been involved in the race that afternoon would be joining him in detention the following Saturday. Since this meant that like Harry they would miss the first Flying Squad meet, their reaction was understandably distraught. Draco, in particular, was devastated, and found if very hard to hold back the tears as he was forced to face the awful consequences of today's foolishness - his father was going to kill him!

Back in Snape's quarters, Harry had been sent upstairs for a bath, after which he was allowed to return to the sitting room, clad in pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers, there to curl up in front of the roaring fire with his precious book while Snape sat at his desk, quietly marking potions essays and preparing lesson plans for the coming week.

But this time, his new friends from 1929 were unable to hold Harry's attention, as he thought again about what had happened at supper, and about Snape's earlier words on the subject of "undue influence". Looking across at his Professor, he had asked "Do you want me to stop being friends with the Weasleys, sir?"

Surprised but intrigued by the question, Snape had put aside his work and come across the room to sit in his favourite armchair by the fire, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. Harry had watched as his Professor came to join him, waiting patiently for a response to his questions.

Knowing that what he said to the child now could have far-reaching effects on Harry's relationships with others, Snape thought deeply for a few more minutes, quietly watching the child who had sat up, wrapping his hands around his knees, and was now watching him intently with trusting green eyes.

"Firstly," he began "you should know that I would never dream of telling you with whom you may or may not be friends. We must each of us be free to make such decisions for ourselves. Sometimes we will choose wisely, sometimes not, but always we should remember one thing - the friends that we choose are a vital part of who we are. A true friend will always be there for you, but will not always be on your side. If a true friend sees you taking the wrong path, it is their duty as a friend to point this out, no matter how angry or hurt this might make you feel."

Harry was fascinated by his Professor's words, and as the soft silky voice continued to impart some much needed words of wisdom, he shuffled daringly closer, and laid his head against the man's knee. Snape did not comment on this audacious act, but as he continued to talk his hand automatically reached down to rest gently on the tousled head.

"You knew that what you were doing today was wrong," Snape continued, "but instead of listening to Miss Granger's warnings, you chose to follow the more tempting advice of the Weasley boys. This is not because Miss Granger is a better friend, but because not only did you desperately want to fly that blasted broom, but also because you allowed your desire to be the boys' friend to influence your decision. You must ask yourself the question, if they are truly my friends, why do they want to lead me into trouble? But in fairness to the dreaded Weasleys you must also remember that nobody made you take part in that contest. The decision was yours, and yours alone"

Reaching down to possess himself of that determined little chin, and looking Harry directly in the eye, he finally added " Remember, Mr Potter, we all make bad choices from time to time, but when we do, those whom we can truly call our friends will be there not just to show us the error of our ways, but to offer forgiveness and a clean slate."

END FLASHBACK

*********

Thinking back to that evening, Harry knew for certain that Professor Snape was a good man; that he was his friend; and that he wanted what was best for Harry.

However, when he witnessed Snape reducing Neville Longbottom to tears with his biting sarcasm, a mere hour after he had reacted to Harry's appalling attempt at fractions by gently shaking his head and telling him not to worry, Harry came to a new and somewhat startling conclusion. Professor Snape was clearly under the control of some dark magic that was forcing him to be mean to his students!

Having got this far in the thought process, Harry found himself at an impasse. His knowledge of such matters was clearly insufficient to enable him to do much to help, at least not on his own, but he was confident that Hermione would know what to do. So he decided to wait until he was released from Snape's quarters before bringing Hermione, and Ron of course, into his mission to save Snape. Until then, he would just have to keep a close eye on the Professor himself.

After a great deal of begging and pleading, combined with fervent promises ("I'll be good, honest!"....."Well, you know what to expect if you are not!"), it had finally been agreed that Harry need not have an adult chaperone whilst walking from one class to the next, or on the lunchtime trip to and from the Great Hall, but the moment his last lesson of the day was over he was expected to head straight for the dungeons to join Professor Snape. The lower school finished lessons at 3pm, but lessons for the older students continued until 4pm, so while Professor Snape continued to teach his last class of the day, Harry sat quietly at a small desk in the corner of the classroom and made a start on his homework, whilst feasting on his afternoon snack of fruit and milk.

At 4pm the unlikely duo made their way together to Severus' quarters. Here Snape's schedule turned once more to Harry's remedial studies, as Harry spent the next 30 minutes on what he referred to as "those stupid squiggles!" but Snape referred to as "quill writing practice."

These exercises had been provided by Molly Weasley who, as the mother of seven children, knew from years of experience the best way to provide small hands with the skills needed to successfully wield a quill pen. Harry, however, did not appreciate being "treated like a baby!" and had at first stubbornly refused to work on the seemingly endless lines and dots and dashes and silly shapes. He had stood beside the kitchen table with a determined look on his face, folded his arms across his chest, and had loudly declared "No! I won't do it! It's silly!" However, one stern look from his Professor, accompanied by the threat of an entire evening with his nose in the corner, had ended the revolution as quickly as it had begun, and now the only sign of his continued contempt for this particular task was the wrinkling of his nose as the detested sheet was placed before him each day.

Once this hated task was over, Harry was expected to finish off any class homework whilst his Professor graded papers. When any written work had been completed, or if Harry had any problems with his assignments, Snape would go through it with him, offering comments and advice on areas where Harry had either made a mistake or could extend on his answers a little. As a result of the time spent in this way, Harry's grades were already improving, but the number of graded papers on Snape's desk by supper time each evening was much smaller than before Harry's arrival. Snape did not appear to mind though.

Harry appreciated most of the help he received, but when, that Wednesday evening after supper, Snape insisted that he rewrite his Transfigurations essay, the handwriting on which Snape had decided was nowhere near as neat as Harry was now capable of, Harry showed for the first time that he was possessed of a temper easily as fierce as his mentor's.

Snape was holding the offending article out in front of him between the finger and thumb of one hand, and had calmly stated that Harry would not be permitted to put away his school books for the night until "this disgraceful rag has been written up properly."

At his words, something snapped inside the little boy. Unbeknownst to his Professor, Harry had been subjected, all afternoon, to a constant barrage of teasing and snide comments from certain of his classmates because he had received an "O" grade (Outstanding) from their Charms professor that morning. The vast majority of the abuse came from the Slytherins, and had they been alone in their behaviour Harry might have been able to shrug it off. But not only did the Gryffindor students not come to Harry's defense, but several of them, Ron included, had joined in the teasing!

Unable to understand the way his friends were reacting, Harry had decided that it was all Snape's fault. If he hadn't gone through Harry's assignment with him, and gently guided him in the right direction, let alone made him rewrite the finished essay more neatly, he would probably have scraped by with a "P" (Poor) or at worst a "D" (Disgraceful"). Even if he had handed in the messy version and earned an "A" (Acceptable), his friends might have been OK with it - after all, Ron got an "A" most of the time.

So now, faced with the awful prospect of being forced to do well in his Transfiuguration essay too, Harry had had enough. He would not do it! He would not spend any more time trying to improve his grades just to make his classsmates hate him! Why couldn't Snape understand the rules? The same rules as had applied at the Dursleys - ie Harry is not allowed to be the best at anything! Well, he was not going to write up that essay, and that was final! Staring angrily at the offending item, he wished with all his heart that it would just vanish, or........ At that moment, there was a flash of blue light, and the parchment in Snape's hand burst into flames!

Stunned at the enormity of what had just happened, Harry stood stock still with his mouth open in surprise and confusion whilst Snape, showing an outward calmness which belied the welter of thoughts now pounding through his head, walked over to the fireplace and consigned the already burning essay to the flames. Turning back, he looked at the now clearly terrified child still standing by the table, his face pale and drawn.

So many thoughts were flashing through Harry's mind as he stared in panic at his still silent Professor. How had it happened? He hadn't meant to do anything! He hadn't! This couldn't be happening - not again! Oh God, what if he had set fire to his Professor? Did Snape think he had wanted to hurt him? He would never forgive him! Never! He would be thrown out of Hogwarts now, for certain! But he wanted to stay! Not just at the school - he wanted to stay with his Professor! But his Professor would never want to keep him now! Would he?

As if in answer to Harry's thoughts, Snape silently held out his arms, and the child ran to him, flinging his arms around his Professor's waist as he burst into frightened tears.

END OF CHAPTER 13


	14. Of Saturdays And Sundaes

14: Of Saturdays and Sundaes

As he reached across the table, with his napkin in his hand, and grasped Harry firmly by the chin, Snape found himself wondering why it was that small boys never seemed capable of eating ice cream sundaes without liberally coating their faces in ice cream and chocolate sauce!

In this instance, however, Snape felt that the blame for the mess he was now faced with should be placed squarely with three disparate groups of people. First and foremost, there was that dreadful duo, Fred and George Weasley, whose foolish nonsense had led to the need for an emergency trip to London for potions supplies in the first place. Secondly, there was of course the Ministry of Magic, who had insisted that certain supplies could only be transported to and from Hogwarts by Snape himself due to their dangerous nature. And finally, there was the one person on whom, in Snape's opinion, the greatest quantity of blame rested squarely, and that person was Albus Dumbledore!

On Thursday morning, when Snape was still feeling somewhat unsettled after dealing with the emotionally charged aftermath of Harry's unexpected bout of Accidental Magic, he had failed to notice the unusually excitable behaviour of certain members of his Third Year Gryffindor and Slytherin potions class. Due to this unusual lack of attention on his part, the Weasley twins succeeded in adding certain illicit ingredients to their cauldron, which had resulted in an explosion that shook the dungeons, and shattered every glass jar and vial in the classroom.

Had it not been for Snape's rapid reactions, the damage would no doubt have been much worse. As it was, the Weasley boys had ended up in the hospital wing, their red eyebrows and eyelashes singed off, and their skin an interesting grey-green hue, whilst Snape was left to discover that he had lost about 30% of his entire potions stock, mostly from the storage cupboards that lined the walls of the classroom, but including certain restricted items kept locked in the cabinet behind his desk, which had been destroyed when the largest portion of the cauldron in question shot across the room, narrowly missing his head and embedding itself in the cupboard door.

Arthur and Molly Weasley had arrived within the hour, shocked at the seriousness of their sons' latest "little prank", terrified that this might be the final straw, and that expulsion might be on the cards this time for these, the most challenging of their seven children.

At their request, Minerva had brought them down to the dungeons to see for themselves the extent of the damage their sons had caused. When they entered the room, Snape was crouched down behind his desk, carefully sweeping up shards of potion-soaked glass, but when he stood up and saw the shocked look on Molly's face, he instantly recognised the horror that swept though her as she saw how close her children had come to serious injury or even death. Without a word, he had put down the dustpan and brush, made his way out from behind his desk, and enfolded the red-headed woman in an embrace that spoke of empathy and understanding.

Minerva had quickly turned away, wiping an errant tear from her eye at the sight of this man, for so long seen by them all as cold-hearted and uncaring, instinctively providing the comfort and support her own words had failed to supply. Dumbledore had been so right - Severus needed Harry as much as the child needed him, and here was proof that the effects of their fledgling relationship were already beginning to take flight.

Embarrassed when he realised what he had done, Snape had adamantly refused to accept Arthur's offer of financial restitution for the loss of certain of his own private supplies. He had coldly informed the couple that he had no intention of taking money from them which was clearly needed at home, causing an angry flush to appear on Arthur's face at this reminder that the Weasleys' ongoing financial difficulties were well known within the wizarding community. Seeing the older man's reaction to his words, Snape felt smugly satisfied that his reputation for cold-heartedness had just been successfully reinstated after that momentary lapse - a lapse for which he firmly placed the blame at the feet of that wretched child!

As Snape had expected, Dumbledore had rejected out of hand the suggestion from a distraught Molly that Fred and George might be facing expulsion. Truth to tell, Snape would have been forced to argue against expulsion, had such a decision been reached, since he firmly believed that Hogwarts had a responsibility towards Fred and George which could not so easily be negated. He did, however, heartily approve of the news that reached him that the wicked pair had been promised a serious "discussion" with their irate father once he got them home to the Burrow, where they would be remaining until Monday morning. It was unlikely that the boys would have much fun that weekend, especially since they had been informed by their Headmaster that upon their return to school they would still have to face whatever form of discipline their Potions Professor chose to administer!

So Snape was now faced with making the long trip to London this Saturday, to purchase replacement ingredients from certain suppliers in Diagon Alley. And although he would be able to make the journey down to London from Hogsmeade by floo powder, the nature of some of the items he needed to replace meant that the return journey would have to be made by train, and would thus take several tedious hours.

Even this prospect seemed like bliss, though, when compared with the actual fate that had befallen him, as a result of the interfering nature of that old fool Dumbledore! The old man had come to see him on the Friday evening just as he was about to send Harry upstairs to bed, and on seeing the child there had smiled sweetly at him and said "So, Harry! Only a few more days left before you get your freedom back, eh?"

"Erm...." had come the eloquent response, causing Snape to raise a sardonic eyebrow.

"Since you are still under house arrest as it were, I suppose you'll be going to London with Professor Snape tomorrow, then?"

The reaction from the wretched child to this totally unwarranted piece of foolishness had been electric. His eyes had immediately shone with excitement as, with a massive grin on his face, Harry had spun around to face Snape and, jumping up and down in his face, had demanded excitedly "Oh sir! Am I really going with you? Really? To London? Oh, please let me come....... I'll be so good! I will! I promise!"

Snape's initial reaction had been to issue a stern command to "Be quiet, child! And stop that foolish hopping up and down - you look ridiculous!"

The crushed look on the child's face, coupled with the reproachful face turned on him by his mentor were, Snape later assured himself, totally responsible for the fact that the next words he spoke were "Of course you will be coming with me, you foolish child!"

Although he was able to justify this statement by adding an acerbic "After all, I doubt I could trust you to follow the terms of your grounding in my absence, considering what happened last Saturday!" Snape nevertheless knew that he had been outfoxed this time, as Harry flung his arms around him and cried "oh thank you, sir! Thank you!" and Dumbledore looked on, smiling and nodding at them and saying "Excellent, excellent!" in that damned knowing way of his.

Snape made a mental note to put the old man right as soon as possible. He was not going soft, and he was most definitely not becoming attached to the child! It was merely easier to accede to the child's request than to try and convince one of his colleagues to take responsibility for the little brat all day - and he was most definitely not leaving him alone what with the Flying Squad meet, from which he was banned, due to take place that afternoon. The child was ludicrously easily led astray right now, and even with Fred and George out of the picture there would no doubt be plenty of other little lions ready to encourage Harry to disobey his orders as soon as his back was turned. He would just have to make sure that the child clearly understood this was not a treat, but a chore.

The morning started well enough. Harry was clearly so happy to be going to London with him - although Snape still found it difficult to see why this would be the case - that he behaved impeccably throughout breakfast, listening gravely as Snape once more delineated the rules of engagement for the day:-

1. Snape was to obeyed promptly and without question at all times

2. Harry was to speak only when spoken to and not pester his Professor with endless questions

3. Harry was on no account to whinge or complain at any time about being bored, hungry, thirsty etc

4. Harry was to remain at his Professor's side at all times unless specifically ordered by him to the contrary.

5. If asked who he was, Harry was to remember that he was Henry Evans, who was Snape's nephew and was staying with him at Hogwarts whilst his mother was ill.

Unknown to Snape, Harry's favourite part of the entire exercise was the fact that, at least for one day, he was going to be allowed to pretend to be Snape's nephew. Snape's nephew! A part of his family! If only......

The walk to Hogsmeade was brisk - it was, after all, mid November in Scotland, making it imperative that they keep moving if they wished to keep warm! Harry found that he had to break into a little trot every so often in order to keep pace with his Professor, but at least this meant that he was definitely warm (although somewhat flushed) when they reached the Hogs Head. This was the only part Harry had not looked forward to - it was time for the floo powder.

Luckily for Harry, Professor Snape had spoken to Madam Pomfrey the night before, once Harry was in bed, about the nausea Harry had suffered previously when travelling by floo. As such, the vitamin supplement Harry had begun taking each morning, at Snape and Poppy's joint insistence, had been slightly augmented that morning to include a mild sedative, designed to combat travel sickness. Thus when Harry stepped out of the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron, from whence they would be entering Diagon Alley, he found to his delight that his breakfast stayed where it was. His celebratory little jig was cut short, however, by Snape's curt command to "cut out that nonsense at once!"

Harry had noticed over the past few days that Snape's curtness appeared to be becoming less believable, at least when directed at him. Sometimes, when he sneaked a swift look at his Professor, he was almost sure he caught a brief smile on his lips despite his stern tone. On this occasion, he was sure that the smile was aimed at him, whilst the curtness was an act for the benefit of the other people in the room. Or was that just wishful thinking on Harry's part? Perhaps, Harry mused, the "meanie spell" that someone had placed on his Professor was beginning to lose its grip!

Harry loved Diagon Alley! The sounds, the smells and the sights combined to overwhelm the senses, and he was perfectly content just to follow behind his stern Professor as he moved from shop to shop, purchasing items or in some instances requesting that they be ordered in from elsewhere, for later collection. Harry found himself hoping that he could accompany his Professor again, when he returned to collect these missing items. When Snape decided to make an extended stop in Flourish & Blott, the booksellers, Harry was ecstatic! He had actually been pointed towards the children's section and ordered to "Stay here, stay out of trouble, find a book and read quietly until I come back for you!" He was in heaven!

Looking across from the Restricted Access Area, where Snape was hoping to find a copy of a certain Dark Arts book he needed to consult on Dumbledore's behalf, the Potions Master allowed himself the luxury of a brief, but sad, smile. How happy the child looked, surrounded by books! So like his mother!

Severus Snape had always prided himself on his ability to be honest about himself and his many shortcomings, both as a man and as a teacher. He knew, for example, that he was seen by many, if not all his students as a hard task master, and by all who knew him as a man who would not suffer fools gladly. His role as Dumbledore's spy had forced him, over the years, to keep a certain emotional distance between himself and those around him; but in his most brutally honest moments of self perception he freely admitted that this distancing, this determination to maintain an emotional detachment from the world, had begun so much earlier than that; had begun, in fact, the first time his much loved mother had looked in pity at his bruised and battered body and yet had defended the violent actions of his abusive father; a detachment that had become his only means of self-preservation the day his beloved Lily had agreed to marry James Potter, the man who had made Snape's life a living hell just because he could. But as he stood in Flourish & Blotts that cold November morning, he forced himself to acknowledge a truth equally as painful, and one which he knew beyond a doubt would lead to so much pain and grief over the coming years..... He, Severus Snape, was becoming attached to this annoying child, this green-eyed bundle of trouble, this nightmare brat who had more idea how to behave like a sensible member of society than a creature raised in a zoo. More than attached in fact.......

Attempting to shake off the maudlin sentiments that were threatening to engulf him, Snape turned away from this picture of childish innocence and returned to the task of uncovering the means of defeating a deadly force which would stop at nothing to destroy that very innocence. He needed to find that book, if he was to save this child - Lily's child - from a fate so horrific that, to protect Harry from it, he would sacrifice not just his life but his very soul. And not just because he had taken a solemn oath to protect the child, that dreadful day when he was forced to stand by, seemingly cold and impassionate, as the body of his only love was lowered into the cold damp earth....... but because the very thought of a world in which Harry Potter no longer existed was suddenly more than he could bear.

Blissfully unaware of the serious thoughts sweeping through his Professor's soul, Harry had found a book about accidental magic, written from a child's perspective, called "Mummy, I blew up the bathtub!" He was sitting on the floor with it in his lap, but was no longer reading it, as his thoughts drifted back to Wednesday evening.......

******

FLASHBACK

Harry could get used to this feeling, he decided, as he laid his head against his Professor's knee, and felt the arm about his shoulder tighten instinctively, increasing the sense of safety and belonging that this man's presence engendered.

"How are you feeling now, Mr Potter? Better, hmm? I only ask because if you were planning to incinerate any more homework, I would prefer you to focus on the pile of unmarked essays on the left-hand side of the desk. I would hate to see my time wasted, as well as that of your fellow students, should a further inflagration prove unavoidable."

Harry looked up into the dark eyes of the man he had finally begun to trust. A man who had responded, earlier that evening, when Harry had almost set him on fire, not with anger and punishment but with gentle words and a comforting embrace. Who had sat beside him, with his arm around him, and carefully explained about "accidental magic".

"You mean ...... you're not mad at me?" Harry had asked, several hours earlier, when he had finally been able to control the tears that had continued to fall unchecked throughout his Professor's calm explanation.

"Of course not, you foolish child! Haven't I just finished explaining to you that what happened was not your fault? Was anyone angry with you when you were sick all over Professor Dumbledore's shoes? That was a natural reaction from your stomach to the effects of side along apparation followed immediately by a trip through the floo network. And just as your stomach reacted by making you throw up, so the stress and anxiety your mind has been experiencing since you first got here caused a magical reaction."

"You mean my magic got sick?"

"In a way, yes! It's a well documented phenomenon amongst children between the ages of about 6 and 10......" continued his Professor, and then stopped when he caught sight of the confused look on Harry's face.

"What is it, child?"

"Erm....What's a fen-om-and-on?"

Snape had sighed, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head sadly at this evidence of how much this child had to learn - and how much he still had to teach him. But for now, the most important thing he needed Harry to understand was that he was not in trouble. So he had pulled the child closer to him, ruffled his hair, and laughed "Oh no! No more lessons for today, young man! We have managed to miss out on supper in the Great Hall, thanks to your incendiary activities, and I for one do not intend to go to bed on an empty stomach. So - you can just march out to that kitchen and set the table, whilst I speak to the house elves about getting some supper delivered."

Supper had been a quiet affair, and when it was over Harry had his bath as usual, then donned his pyjamas before heading back downstairs, to find that his Professor was sitting in his favourite armchair, staring into the fire with a serious look on his face. Still uncertain of where he stood with this man, Harry had bitten his lip nervously, wondering whether he should slip quietly away to bed. But just as he was about to turn away, his Professor had turned a quizzical gaze in his direction and held out his hand. In response to this silent invitation, Harry had sidled up beside him, and taken up his usual spot on the rug at Snape's feet.

END FLASHBACK

***********

Remembering how contented he had felt that evening, Harry sighed happily to himself, then looked up sharply as he heard the brusque command "Come along, child. Lunch time!"

Lunch, Harry had found to his delight, had been followed by his first ever ice cream - a double chocolate fudge sundae in fact. For years Harry had watched as Dudley consumed such delightful desserts, never dreaming that he would get to eat one himself. True, he had made rather a mess, which had led to stern words of admonishment from his Professor, but his stern words had been followed by the production of a handkerchief, with which he had proceeded to wipe Harry's face clean. Harry's heart swelled at this action - he had witnessed many parents perform the same task for their messy offspring, and somehow having his Professor treat him the same way felt right.

After lunch, they headed for King's Cross, and the long train journey back to Hogsmeade. Once happily ensconced in a window seat beside his Professor, Harry was thrilled when he was handed a brown paper bag emblazoned with the Flourish & Blott logo, inside which was an illustrated copy of Hogwarts, A History. Harry stared at it in amazement before turning to look up at his Professor, not daring to ask the question which was on the tip of his tongue.

"Yes, Harry!" came the quiet answer to his unspoken question. "It is for you. Now, why don't you start reading, and give me a little peace and quiet for a change!"

"Oh, thank you!" Harry cried, flinging his arms around his Professor in an impromptu hug which caused several fellow passengers to smile indulgently at the unlikely duo. Snape huffed at him, before gently prising himself loose and pointing the child's attention back to the book. A few minutes later, peace reigned as both teacher and child indulged their passion for reading, Snape's free arm one more draped around Harry's shoulder, as the train sped on its way north towards home.

END OF CHAPTER 14


	15. Under The Influence

Chapter 15 : Under The Influence

Harry had been "back in circulation" as Fred & George called it, for almost a week now. He had been greeted with enthusiasm when he first set foot in Gryffindor Tower, which had both delighted and surprised him. Although he had spent lesson time with his housemates during his time with Professor Snape, they had not exactly been friendly. There had been unkindness from some about the outcome of Snape's unexpected arrival at the broomstick race, as well as a certain amount of teasing about his improving grades and his newly acquired "goody goody" behaviour in class. All of this had left Harry dreading his return to their midst, but he had reckoned without the influence of a certain ex head boy, now working abroad, who had "popped by whilst in the area" to spend time with his younger siblings at the request of his much-beloved Headmaster.

Charlie Weasley was a born leader. Possessed of a gregarious personality, he naturally inspired those around him to seek his approval. For those within his inner circle of friends, and most especially for his younger siblings, the words that caused them the most distress, where Charlie was concerned, were "I'm disappointed in you, mate!" Fortunately Charlie had always used this ability to inspire others for the good - which was more than could be said, sadly, for Fred and George, who had so far used a similar ability to inspire others for mischief making and nonsense.

It had been his Headmaster who had contacted Charlie, following the incident in the potions classroom, and had gently suggested that both his family and his House were in need of his help. Charlie, like almost every child who had passed through Hogwarts under the gentle guidance of this wily old man, would walk through fire for Albus Dumbledore, and so it had been that he had stepped out of the kitchen fireplace at the Burrow on that Thursday evening, there to be taken into the delighted embrace of his tearful mother.

Fred and George came out of the study some time later with flushed and tear-stained faces, following an extremely uncomfortable discussion with their father. He had been even angrier with them this time, they reckoned, than when, at the tender age of 7, they had tried to convince Ron, then aged 5, to make an Unbreakable Vow never to eat sprouts. To find Charlie sitting at the kitchen table, with a steaming mug of tea between his clasped hands and a serious look of disappointment on his face, had been almost more than they could bear.

Without a word, Charlie had risen to his feet, nodding solemnly to his father, who had followed his sons into the room, had reached for his coat, which was draped over the back of his chair, then headed out the back door. Knowing what this meant, his younger brothers had scrambled for their own warm jackets before running after Charlie towards the old wooden hut at the end of the garden, which had served as a clubhouse to generations of Weasley children.

Whatever was said in the privacy of the clubhouse that evening was never revealed by any of those present, although when the brothers returned to the house an hour or so later, it was clear that all three had been crying. Charlie stood quietly in the doorway as first Fred and then George had solemnly apologised once more to their exhausted parents, finally breaking into a gentle smile as their mother instantly enfolded the most troublesome members of her precious brood in a loving embrace, whilst their less demonstrative but equally devoted father reached across her to ruffle their hair.

When the twins returned to Hogwarts, on Sunday night rather than on Monday morning as originally planned, Charlie went too, having promised a somewhat tearful Ginny that he would come back to see her very soon, but that he had to "go and sort out young Ronald and those other idiotic Gryffindors!" His little sister had smiled at this, and let him go - if Charlie said he'd do something he always did, so that was ok. She would see Charlie again soon, and she was definitely glad that she wasn't in Ron's shoes right now!

Charlie's unexpected arrival in the Gryffindor common room was the cause of great celebration, although the joy had became slightly muted when, once he was comfortably ensconced in his favourite armchair, he had quietly informed the assembled crowd that he had "a matter of House behaviour to discuss". By the time he had finished giving them his unvarnished opinion of the way in which the youngest member of their house was being treated, there was more than one red face amongst them, and these were not just limited to the members of the lower school. Once he had finished speaking, every single member of Gryffindor had solemnly sworn to make Harry's welcome back the next day a warm one - and it was.

As he had promised, Charlie also found time that evening for a private chat with his youngest brother. Seated on Ron's bed, his arm draped comfortingly around Ron's shoulder, he had spoken gently but firmly, pointing out that Ron's old enemy, jealousy, had apparently reared its ugly head once more, and was putting his friendship with Harry at risk. As was usually the case when Charlie found it necessary to express disappointment in one of his siblings, there were tears, and promises to do better in the future; and as always, the discussion ended with assurances from Charlie that all was now forgiven. That night, Ron went to bed with a smile on his face for the first time since he had joined in the teasing of Harry the previous Saturday night. Ron had told Charlie that he was genuinely fond of Harry. He found him fun to be with, valued the time they spent together, and had really missed him over the past few days. He was also grimly determined that he would not allow jealousy of a talent for magic which was clearly much greater than his own to get in the way of the valuable friendship he had formed with Harry. He just hoped that his foolishness over the past week or so had not already destroyed that friendship.

Severus Snape was just about to turn in for the night when there was a knock on his sitting room door. He was not surprised to find that Charlie Weasley had found it necessary to take a hand once again with his troublesome siblings, although he was unsure what had brought the young man to his door at this late hour. Twenty minutes later, as the two men sat together over a pot of tea, he was remembering again what it was that had always attracted him to this gentle young lion, as Charlie used his well-honed skills to convince his ex Potions Master to speak to Harry on his baby brother's behalf before returning him to the fold the following day. This Snape had gladly agreed to do, but he had in turn extracted a few promises of his own, relating to his ongoing investigation into the Romanian activities of a certain DADA professor. As the men shook hands on their deal, both felt that they had made a valuable new ally that night - an ally who might, in time, even become a good friend. And good friends, as we know, are hard to find.

**********

Harry had been back with his friends for several days before the touchy subject of Snape's famously unpleasant behaviour came up - mostly, it has to be said, because of the dire threats Charlie Weasley had made against anyone who was foolish enough to tease Harry about his time spent "under house arrest" with their Potions Master.

On Wednesday afternoon, Neville's failed attempt at a simple sleeping draught had somehow produced a pungent green smoke that landed several of his classmates in the hospital wing. At the time, Snape had been far too busy dealing with the casualties to do more than snap at the unfortunate boy to "Get out of the way, you idiotic child!" By the time Friday's lesson arrived, however, the injured students were all fully recovered, which appeared to be more than could be said for Snape's temper.

From the moment he swept into the classroom it was clear that not only was their Professor in a foul mood, but also that his chosen victim of the day was Neville. By the time he had clearly delineated every error that was made by "The Idiot Longbottom" in Wednesday's lesson, as well as pondering out loud on the variety of ways "Our Resident Buffoon" could possibly create mayhem today - "After all, the Moron in our Midst could cause complete chaos making a cup of tea!" - Neville was choking back tears of shame, the rest of the Gryffindors were steaming with repressed anger, and the Slytherins were openly grinning at each other. This was their Professor at his snarkiest best, and as long as they were not in the firing line they intended to enjoy every moment of it.

To Harry, however, this was nothing less than a total disaster, and it was all his fault! He had known about the curse someone had placed on his Professor, and instead of asking Hermione & Ron to help him find the counter-curse, he had allowed his personal feelings to come first. He had been so relieved that nobody had teased him about the time he had spent with Snape, or even asked what it had been like, that he had steered clear of the topic just as carefully as everyone else. And now, Neville was suffering the consequences of Harry's selfishness! He had to do something to stop this!

Professor Snape had, without realising why, been carefully avoiding looking at Harry during his vitriolic attack on Neville, but for some reason now found his eyes inexplicably drawn to the child. At once, he noted Harry's face, pale and drawn, as well as the tell-tale nervous chewing of his lower lip, and the pleading look in those green eyes, now clouding over with unshed tears. Unaccountably, his tongue appeared to become stuck to the roof of his mouth, as he gazed for a long moment into those eyes, knowing instinctively that the child was distressed by what was happening. Quickly, he turned his back on the class and headed for his desk, clearing his throat and running his fingers brusquely through his hair as he attempted to regain control of his thoughts.

Having cleared his mind of the emotions that were clouding his thoughts far too frequently of late, Snape turned once more to face his students, and sneered at the collection of bemused and stunned faces staring back at him. Carefully avoiding looking at Harry, but otherwise firmly in charge of the situation once more, he reminded them of the task at hand, before issuing the curt command to "Get on with it!"

At first there was silence, then slowly the class came back to life, as one after another they hesitantly began work on the healing balm they were to create today. Glancing across at Harry, Snape was quietly relieved to see the colour gradually returning to the child's cheeks, as he carefully laid out his ingredients on the workbench, whilst gravely checking his notes to ensure that he had measured them out in the correct proportions. Such a serious little face - why it should matter to him that the cloud had been lifted from those green eyes he could not say, but it mattered all the same.

***************

The first year Gryffindors could hardly wait to get out of the classroom at the end of the lesson, and as soon as they were out of earshot began to express their unvarnished opinion of their Potions Professor. Harry went with them, but remained silent. He was not surprised to hear that his housemates were unhappy with the way Professor Snape had treated Neville. However, the extent of their anger, and the long litany of criticisms which they were now discussing openly, as they headed into the Great Hall for lunch, came as quite a shock to him. What surprised him more, though, was that this criticism should cause him so much pain. He hadn't realised until now how much he cared about the man he had somehow come to think of as his Professor, or how much it could hurt that his friends had such a low opinion of him. Unable to sit and listen in silence as the first years eagerly began to inform their elders of "the latest from the Evil Bat of the Dungeons", he slipped quietly from the room, unnoticed.

During lunch, word reached the students of a nasty accident in Greenhouse 3, involving two fourth year Herbology students and their professor. As a result, all lessons with either Professor Sprout or Professor Snape, who was assisting in treating the injured, had been cancelled for the rest of the day. The first year Gryffindors were delighted to learn that they would have a free period, and after lunch had ended they headed for their common room laughing and joking - and failed to notice that Harry was no longer with them.

During his time with Professor Snape, the marked improvement in Harry's grades, as well as in his behaviour, had been noted. As a result it had been agreed that his timetable be adjusted to allow Snape to continue to tutor the child in Mathematics, Spelling, Grammar etc as well as to provide one-to-one assistance with his other studies as required. To allow for this, a delighted Harry had been informed that he would be dropping History of Magic for the time being. Professor Snape, noting the smile this news brought to Harry's face, had sternly informed him that they would naturally be including a certain amount of History in their private studies, but Harry had refused to let this thought daunt him - after all, he reasoned, Maths lessons with his Professor were much better than they had been at school, so History lessons with Snape would be better too, of that he was sure.

Thus it was that at 9am on Monday and Wednesday mornings, while his classmates studied History of Magic with Professor Binns, Harry was to work with Professor Snape, who fortuitously had free periods on his timetable at those hours. On Fridays, however, their timetables did not mesh so easily, and so from 2pm til 3pm, whilst the other first years ended their classes for the week in the cintillating company of Professor Binns, Harry was supposed to go to the Library and get on with his prep. His classmates would join him there at 3pm for their official Study Period, which lasted til 5pm, but which Harry was to leave at 4pm in order to spend some time with Professor Snape, going over any problems with his work and ensuring that he was on task with his studies.

What with the unexpected free time they had gained in place of a Herbology lesson, and the fact that they would not have expected to see Harry in the History classroom anyway, it was not until Ron and Hermione reached the Library just after 3 o'clock and discovered that Harry had not "baggsied" their favourite table, that they realised they had not actually seen Harry since lunchtime. Where could he be?

END OF CHAPTER 15


	16. Drawn Into Darkness

Chapter 16 : Drawn Into Darkness

Where was Harry?

Ron had convinced Hermione not to say anything about Harry's absence from the Library. He was unwilling to see Harry getting into trouble again so soon after his "release" from Snape's custody, and knew instinctively that if their Potions Professor were to find out that Harry had taken advantage of the Herbology incident to play Hooky again, he would be in big trouble. Hermione agreed to say nothing, since she was sure that Harry had just slipped away to see Hagrid, and had lost track of time.

Unfortunately, the injuries sustained by two of the third year students were so serious that Professor Snape was kept busy all afternoon, and as such did not get back to his quarters until 4.30. When he discovered that Harry was not there, he assumed that the child had found that his Professor was still busy, and gone back to join his friends in the Library. So he headed upstairs for a relaxing soak in a hot bath before Supper.

By 5.30, when his friends got back to the Gryffindor common room and found that Harry was not there, Hermione was worried enough to insist that Ron go with her to Hagrid's hut, and check that everything was ok. When they learnt that Hagrid had not seen Harry all day, panic set in. Ron ran off at once to see if Harry was in the Owlery with Hedwig, whilst Hagrid went to check down by the lake, leaving Hermione with the unpleasant task of informing Professor McGonagall that the youngest member of her house appeared to be missing.

At 6.15, in answer to a rather timid knock, Snape opened his sitting room door to find Percy Weasley standing there.

"Yes?" he asked sharply, frowning at the usually calm and reliable Gryffindor prefect who was standing there, shifting from foot to foot in a nervous fashion, and with an unusually worried look on his face.

"Erm.... I'm sorry to disturb you, sir" Percy began hesitantly, "but Professor McGonagall asked me to advise you that Harry Potter appears to have gone missing."

*********

When he had fled from the Great Hall, the primary thought in Harry's mind was to get away from them all. To escape from the cruel words being spoken about the man for whom he had come to care so deeply. Whose good opinion meant so much to him. Meant more to him, he now realised, than even the friendship of Ron and Hermione - a friendship which he valued so highly, having never had friends before. But they hated Snape - and it was all his fault!

He alone, or so it seemed right now, knew what a wonderful person his Professor was. How kind and thoughtful, how dependable. A formidable force when Harry was bad, which he knew he had been far too often, but an equally formidable friend when Harry was in need. The comfort of his embrace, so freely given when Harry was in distress. The firm but gentle words of encouragement when things had not gone well, spoken in that silkily soft voice, which washed over Harry like a warm summer breeze, easing the pain of disappointment. And the quiet simple words of praise when Harry had done well, words that caused his heart to swell with happiness and pride. If Harry could have put a name to what he felt for this man, that name would have been "love". But Harry had never before known what love was, and so the word remained unspoken.

But how could he expect his friends and classmates to see this side of the man, when the curse that had been placed upon his Professor forced him to act so cruelly? Harry knew that, were it not for the fact that he had been so fortunately granted time to get to know Snape, away from the world of the classroom, he too would have continued to believe in the "evil bat of the dungeons". But he knew better now, and he owed it to his Professor to do something with that knowledge. But what could he do?

What Harry wanted to do, more than anything else, as he stood there in the hallway outside the Great Hall, anger and distress causing his heart to swell painfully, and his breath to catch with the effort of controlling his confused emotions, was to run to his Professor's side, to bury his face against Snape's chest and feel those strong arms sweeping down to surround him. But that was the one thing he could not do - it was his turn now to be there for his Professor, not the other way round. He had to be strong, for Snape's sake. He had to make it all better, and he had to do it alone. Now!

When he was working on his assignments Harry knew that, if he asked his Professor about a spell, any spell, the first thing he always said was "Well, what does your textbook say about it?" So surely the same thing applied here - and if, as he knew to be the case in this instance, his textbook did not have the answer, he would invariably be pointed towards one of the many other books in his Professor's private library. The answer was always there.

The answer was always there! Of course! Snape's private library had books on everything else, so why not this? He just had to find the right book!

As with most children his age, to think was to act for Harry, and so it was that ten minutes later he was to be found standing in Snape's quarters, staring at the wall-to-wall shelves of books in the sitting room.

He had become well acquainted with quite a few of these books over the past few weeks, but he knew that the chances of finding what he needed in the books he had looked through were very slim. The curse which had been placed on his Professor had to be very powerful and very dark, since Snape had clearly been unable to defeat it himself and so, Harry concluded quite logically, the details of how to defeat such a powerful curse would not be found in just any book - he had to look in one of the books on the top shelf.

The top shelf, he knew, was completely out of bounds. He had been informed of this rule on day one of his stay with Snape, but this rule had been underlined in no uncertain terms when he had been caught standing on the "elephant's foot" stool after his bath one evening of the previous week, running his fingers inquisitively along the spines of the Dark Arts books. One moment Harry had been on the stool, and the next moment Snape, who had entered the room unnoticed, had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, swinging the naughty child off the stool, and placing his own foot there instead, before swiftly bending Harry across his raised knee, and administering three stinging smacks to his pyjama-clad bottom.

Those smacks had really hurt - not nearly as much as Harry had made out, from his subsequent tears and fuss, but they had the desired effect, and ordinarily Harry would not have dreamt of going near those particular books again. Harry knew with absolute certainty that if Professor Snape came in now and caught him looking at them he would be in very serious trouble indeed, but it was a risk he was prepared to take, to save Snape.

The first book he chose was entitled "Defying The Darkness", but although the title had sounded promising, the contents appeared to focus on the treatment and control of werewolves, a topic which Harry thought was very interesting but totally useless. After all, when would he ever meet a werewolf?

The second book was much older. Bound in embossed dark green leather, and decorated with snakes and swirls of silver, its title appeared at first to be in a foreign language, but as Harry carefully fingered the raised lettering those letters seemed to shift and change, until he was able to read the words "Darkness Revealed".

As Harry gingerly opened the book, he heard a sibilant whisper, and spun around swiftly, terrified that he would find a furious Professor Snape standing behind him, but the room was empty. Or was it?

"Do not be afraid, little boy. The darkness which flows through me flows also in your veins."

Startled, Harry span back round, to see a boy standing next to the bookcase. A boy of about Percy's age, wearing a Hogwarts uniform and a Slytherin house tie. As Harry stared, open-mouthed, dropping the open book on the floor in front of him, the boy held out his hand in greeting, a slow smile appearing on his pale face. A smile that did nothing to lessen Harry's fear, since it was a cold smile; a smile that did not reach his eyes; a smile that spoke of superiority and smugness. The same smile, in fact, as Harry regularly saw on the faces of several Slytherin prefects. But this boy was not one of them. As the boy reached out and took hold of Harry's hand, an icy coldness spread through Harry's veins.

"You are afraid of me, yes?" came the cold voice, as the boy continued to grasp Harry's hand. "Why should that be, I wonder, when you are but a part of me?"

"I am not afraid!" cried Harry, snatching his hand away and turning aside, intent on getting out of the room as quickly as possible. "I..... I just have to go to class now. I'll be in trouble with Professor Snape if I'm late for class again."

"Professor Snape is not interested in you, Harry. He is only interested in keeping you safe until I can come for you! And here I am!"

Pulling Harry closer, the boy swept Harry's hair back from his forehead and kissed the lightening bolt scar which lay their. Instantly, a sharp pain seared its way across Harry's head, leaving him almost blinded by its intensity. He staggered slightly, and felt the boy's arms come round him, almost tenderly, as he helped him across the room and out the door.

The pain in his head was so great that Harry quickly lost track of where they were, and as such he had no idea, when the door finally closed behind them, where exactly they had ended up. To make matters worse, once the door to this room was closed, it seemed to vanish, leaving only a blank wall. At once, the boy withdrew his supporting arm, and Harry stumbled, falling sideways and hitting his head hard against the wall. Everything went dark, as he passed out and fell to the floor.

*************

By 8pm the entire castle was in uproar as Professors and students alike searched feverishly for the missing child. Even Professor Quirrell, who had consistently avoided any involvement with Harry for some reason, had taken part in the search, but to no avail.

Ron and Hermione had been spoken to severely by their Head of House for keeping Harry's absence to themselves for so long before alerting her. Hermione had been swiftly reduced to tears, and when Percy chose to scold his youngest brother, pointing out how worried their parents would be if it was Ron who was missing, Ron came dangerously close to tears as well.

It was at this juncture that Fred and George entered the Gryffindor common room. They had been in detention with Argus Filch, as they would be every Friday evening until the end of term, as a result of the cauldron incident. As such they had until now been blissfully unaware of the panic surrounding Harry's current whereabouts.

"You mean the kid's been missing since lunch?" asked George, staring in horror at the look of despair on his little brother's face.

"Yes, and it's all my fault!" wailed Ron, tears now welling as the nervous anxiety of the past few hours finally got the better of him.

"Cool it, mate! We'll find him in a trice!" declared Fred, with a grin, grabbing George and pulling him close to whisper something in his ear which caused George to break into a grin just as wide.

As Ron and Percy watched in amazement, Fred disappeared upstairs to his dormitory, returning a few moments later clutching a folded piece of parchment, which he waved at them gleefully, crying "Soon have old Harry back with us!"

George pulled out his wand, and tapped it against the parchment with the words "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!" At this, the blank parchment began to transform into a complex map of the castle, on which could be seen little moving footprints with names next to them.

"Wow! There's us! See, Perce...." cried Ron, forgetting for a brief moment the gravity of the situation.

"But where's Harry?" cried Hermione, who had joined the Weasley hoard and was feverishly scanning every inch of the map, in search of Harry's name.

There was a long silence as all five children turned their attention to the vital task in hand. As the seconds ticked by into minutes, even the initially cocksure duo became more frantic as they found no sign of Harry's whereabouts. Then suddenly Percy snatched the map and yelled "There he is!"......"Oh no, he's gone again!".... "I'm sure he was...."

"Yes! There he is!" cried Fred, pointing to a corridor on the westernmost side of the castle. "No! He's gone again! .... No, he's back...... What the hell???"

The children stared in horrified fascination, as Harry's name continued to appear on the parchment briefly, only to fade away again, then reappear, always in the same spot but slightly fainter each time.

"What does it mean?" cried Percy in consternation, but his younger brother was quicker to react as, snatching the map from Percy's hand, Fred headed for the door, yelling "Gotta tell Snape! Harry's in danger! Gotta get to him now, before it's too late!"

**********

Snape was feeling sick. He had no idea where Harry was, whether he had wandered off alone of his own accord, or been snatched, or God only knew what. Right now, he would have given anything just to know that the child was safe. Where the hell was he? They had looked everywhere by now, surely there should have been some sign of the boy? What if he was injured.... or worse? What if he never saw him again? What if.......?

Minerva, who had been holding a quiet conversation with Professor Dumbledore at the far end of the Great Hall, came up behind her clearly frantic young colleague and placed a comforting arm around his shoulder. For a wonder, Snape did not shake her off, as he would have in the past at any overt sign of emotional support.

"We'll find him, Sev. I know we will."

"I wish I had your certainty, Min!" he responded, using the nickname Albus had given her many years ago, but which Snape had rarely, if ever, used. This slip on Snape's part brought a sad smile to her face, as she gave him a gentle hug.

Just then, the doors at the far end of the Great Hall were flung open and Fred Weasley came hurtling though, waving a piece of parchment about. A few moments later, the doors were flung wide again as Fred was followed into the Hall by his siblings and Hermione.

"Professor Snape! Professor!" yelled Fred, shoving the parchment under his nose "It's Harry! He's in danger!"

Within minutes, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, together with the four Weasley boys and Hermione, who had all stubbornly refused to return to their common room, were standing in the middle of the corridor where, according to the map, Harry kept appearing and disappearing. To their dismay, there was no sign of Harry. However, as soon as Albus realised where they were standing, he gave a triumphant cry.

"The Room of Requirement!"

"Huh?" came the eloquent response from Ron, as the other children looked on with equally blank faces.

"It's here?" queried Snape, ignoring Ron. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!" cried Professor McGonagall. "Remember, Severus. We held those Order meetings here just after Lily and ......"

"Quite, quite!" Albus interrupted, intent on avoiding any thoughts of the loss of Lily and James whilst Harry was still missing, and Snape was clearly holding his tattered emotions together by a thread. "What we need to do now is find the door."

But this proved to be easier said than done, and ten minutes later they were still no closer to finding the way in. As her increasingly frantic colleagues continued to try every means they could think of to make the Room appear, Professor McGonagall sat on the floor, surrounded by the five children, and did her best to keep them calm, as the representation of Harry on the map became gradually fainter and fainter, by attempting to explain to them what the Room of Requirement was, and why it was so hard to find it when it was already being used by someone else.

"So unless Harry opens the door, they can't find it?" asked Hermione, who had given up fighting her tears some time ago, and was allowing them to slide, silent and unheeded, down her pale cheeks.

"So it would seem, dear."

"But why can't Harry hear them calling?" asked Ron.

He had watched in stunned silence as an increasingly distraught Professor Snape made his way the entire length of the corridor, banging his now bruised and bloodied fists against the wall and calling Harry's name at the top of his voice. Ron had never felt so useless. The sight of his usually stern, seemingly cold-hearted Professor giving way to the powerful emotions which were flooding over him was almost more than he could stand.

"Why can't he hear us?" echoed Percy. "Are the walls that thick? Or is it part of the magic?"

"Of course!" cried Snape, suddenly, dragging a frantic hand through his already dishevelled hair. "He's being shielded! That's why he can't hear us! Be quiet.... Let me try something else!"

As they all watched in silence, Snape laid one hand against the wall, and closed his eyes. As the silence stretched out around them, Fred opened his mouth to ask Snape what he was doing, only to be hushed by Professor Dumbledore, who whispered "He's using his thoughts to try and reach Harry. Hush now, children, and pray God that the link between them is strong enough!"

END OF CHAPTER 16


	17. Shadows In The Dark

Chapter 17 : Shadows In The Dark

Harry made his way slowly and painfully back to consciousness. He sat on the floor, his still throbbing head resting against the wall, as he was forced to listen in silence - a silence imposed upon him by his captor, and enforced by a casually applied blow to the stomach from a booted foot - to a litany of mostly incomprehensible cursing and complaints.

From what Harry could work out, they had come to this room in order that his captor could use its special power to find a way to get them both out of the castle. Harry had not yet dared to ask why they could not simply walk out through the front door - from what he could gather, this was simply not an option, the blame for which had been placed firmly in the hands of "that damned old fool, Dumbledore!"

At last, taking advantage of the fact that his captor was currently at the far end of the room and thus out of kicking range, Harry gave in to his natural curiosity and asked "Please, who are you?"

"Foolish child - have you really no idea who I am? Have the fools appointed to educate you done such a pathetic job, or is it that you are even more of a lackwit than that playboy father of yours?"

Harry had no idea what a playboy was, although since lackwit was a word he had often heard his Professor use about Neville, as well as Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and several other less able members of his potions class he quite rightly assumed that it was not meant as a compliment.

He had never known his father, but had spent his early childhood listening to his Aunt & Uncle insult the man on a regular basis. Since entering the magical world, he had been delighted to learn that his father, far from being the drunken wastrel his relatives spoke of, was regarded by many as a hero. He had heard with pride the tales of his prowess as a quidditch player, his popularity as a Gryffindor prefect, and of how he had spoken out boldly against those who supported You Know Who.

Harry knew that his father had not been universally admired, but to have this boy remind him now of the low opinion his relatives had of him angered Harry.

"My father was not a lackwit!" he yelled, struggling to stand on somewhat wobbly legs. In the end he resorted to using his hands to haul himself up and then continued to lean against the wall, panting slightly from the effort this small action seemed to have taken. He felt weak, and light-headed. Nevertheless, the look he turned on his captor was one of fearless defiance.

"Your father was a wastrel and a coward. He died grovelling before me on his knees, begging for his life!"

"No!" screamed Harry, launching himself at the older boy in blind fury, only to find himself flung backwards as his tormentor used Harry's own wand against him. Crashing against the wall, the breath knocked out of him, and his throbbing head connecting sharply with the stonework, Harry sank once more into darkness.

When next he came to, Harry thought at first that he was in a different place. The room they were in had previously consisted of a long sunlit gallery, devoid of all furnishings save the plush green carpet which ran its entire length. The sun had set while he lay unconcious, and the room was now lit by a series of flickering smoky torches which hung from the walls, alongside banners emblazoned with the Slytherin coat of arms. Halfway down the room was a magnificent stone fireplace, in which a log fire was blazing. Opposite the fireplace stood a large oak table, covered in pieces of parchment, some of which had been crumpled and torn. Beside the table, in a high backed chair, sat his now somewhat dishevelled captor, his elbows resting on the table and his hands pressed against the sides of his head. Clearly, things were not going well.

As if he had read Harry's thoughts, the older boy turned to glare at him, as if daring him to speak. Harry stared back in silence.

"Cat got your tongue, Potter?" came the sneering voice which reminded Harry so strongly of Draco Malfoy at his snarkiest.

"No! I was just wondering how much longer it's going to take before you finally admit that you don't know what you're doing."

"Be silent!" roared the young Slytherin. "How dare you mock me! Do you still not know who I am?"

"Not a clue! Some Slytherin snake-lover or other, I guess" taunted Harry, emboldened by the fact that he had just realised that his captor was no longer in possession of Harry's wand, which was currently lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, to which spot it had clearly rolled after falling unheeded from the cluttered table.

Harry got carefully to his feet, as his irate captor stared at him in disbelief, stunned that this small child, already bruised and battered from his earlier punishment, should dare to insult him in this fashion. As Harry slowly edged his way towards the fireplace, his enemy suddenly spang to his feet.

"Foolish child! How can you remain so ignorant? I am your nemesis! Your worst nightmare made flesh. I am Lord Voldemort!"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and stared in total amazement at the madman in front of him, then burst out laughing.

"You? Lord Voldemort? You are nothing more than a bully boy like my cousin Dudley, or maybe Malfoy's idiot sidekicks, Crabbe and Goyle! Lord Voldemort is long dead, and I should now... because I'm the one who killed him! Do you hear me, freak boy? When I was only a baby, just a baby, I killed your precious Dark Lord! Voldemort is dead!"

As Harry stood there, panting heavily, his enemy advanced slowly towards him, an evil smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Harry stood his ground, valiantly fighting the urge to back away, until his captor stood inches away from him. Suddenly, a hand shot out and grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck, then the other long white skeletal hand reached out and almost reverently swept his fringe to one side, exposing the lightning bolt scar. Instantly, a searing pain shot through Harry's head, as the scar began to throb and burn, as if it was on fire. Harry cried out in agony, as he was lifted from his feet, shaken like a rag in a dog's mouth, and then flung contemptuously to the floor.

"Death is not so hard to ouitwit, little boy! I am far from dead, as you can see. I am Lord Voldemort, restored to this world through you. I am alive, and will always be alive. I live on in more ways than you, or the fools who guard you, can even comprehend. I live on in the hearts and souls of those who follow me. I live on in the memories of those who fear me - and who even fear to speak my name. I live on in the darkest, secret recesses of this fragile world, hidden in the very depths, where death has no power, and where my fractured soul lies sleeping, awaiting a glorious rebirth in blood and flames. And I live on in you, Harry Potter!"

Harry lay silently at his captor's feet, staring up into the manic eyes, now flecked with a fiery red glow, which glared down at him. The pain in his head ebbed and flowed, and silent tears began to roll down his cheeks as he realised the awful truth. He was alone, trapped here at the mercy of the man who had killed his parents. Who had killed and tortured so many just to get to Harry all those years ago. Voldemort was back, and it was all Harry's fault! He had opened that book, and had released the devil himself!

Harry was exhausted. After a while, the searing pain in his head had subsided to a dull ache, but as time wore on he had become aware that he was growing weaker. Once more propped up against the wall, he was finding it an effort just to stay awake.

Voldemort - and Harry no longer doubted that it was indeed Voldemort who had brought him captive to this strange room - had returned to the vexatious question of finding a way out of the castle. He had coldly informed Harry that once they were free of the enchantments originally placed upon Hogwarts by the Founders and strenghtened over the past few years by "that wiley old fox, Dumbledore", the Harry who lay at his feet now would cease to exist, and Lord Voldemort would be returned to his full strength.

"You see, my dear boy," he had explained "this form in which you see me is but a borrowed likeness of myself, on loan from a former time. It has no substance beyond the walls of this castle. You, however, are flesh and blood. A young life, barely begun - and one in which my power has already made a home!"

At these words, he had touched his own forehead in the same spot as Harry's scar - and the pain flared once more in Harry's scar, as if the wound had been made afresh. Voldemort laughed, as Harry clutched at his forehead in fear and pain, while staring at his tormentor with horrified fascination.

"Wh... What do you mean? What power?" Harry stammered, as the pain slowly receded.

Clearly bored of tormenting Harry, his captor turned away, ignoring Harry's questions, and went back to work at trying to find whatever information or spell it was he needed to escape Hogwarts. Harry was left to ponder his words in silence.

As time passed, Harry's captor became more and more distressed, and less and less coherent, until at last, apparently worn out by his failure, and by his increasingly vitriolic assaults upon the person and character of first Dumbledore then some group of fools whom he called "the Order", he had buried his head in his arms, slumped over on the table in a position of wearied defeat.

"Can you hear me, Harry?"

Harry looked up sharply - surely that was Professor Snape's voice! But where was it coming from? And how come Voldemor didn't appear to have heard it? Harry sighed, slumping back down against the wall. He must have been imagining things - because Professor Snape was the one person he had most wanted to see over the past few terrifying hours.

"Harry! Can you hear me? Please, Harry! Tell me you can hear me!"

This time Harry knew it was his Professor's voice he had heard, although the frantic tone was one that he did not recognise. What was more, Harry knew now where the voice was coming from. It was in his head! He was going mad, and this was the first sign.

"Harry! Don't be afraid! I know you can hear me - I know you can, because I can sense it. You're not mad, child. Trust me. This is magic, not madness. Tell me you can hear me. Use your mind, Harry!"

Harry looked across once more at his captor - he had not moved, and was clearly unaware of what was going on. Not quite sure how to go about this, Harry squeezed his eyes tight shut and conjured up the memory of his Professor's stern, much-beloved features before whispering silently, inside his head, the words "Help me, Professor! Please! I need you!...I'm frightened!"

END OF CHAPTER 17


	18. Of Guilt & Grief

18: Of Guilt and Grief

Harry was crying...Silently...Alone...

...

It had been five long days since his escape from Lord Voldemort in the Room of Requirement. Five days of questions and quizzical looks from his friends and classmates. Five days of "just checking that you are none the worse for wear" first by Madam Pomfrey, then Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, followed by Molly and Arthur Weasley, a tearful Hagrid, and even Madam Hooch - who had said that her only concern was whether or not he was fit to fly, but who, like the others, had seemed more concerned with whether he was having nightmares.

Nightmares were the least of Harry's worries right now though. He knew from past experience, after all those years locked in the cupboard under the stairs, that all he had to do was force himself to wake up, and the monsters would retreat. The monster he was facing now was far more real, it was with him night and day - and its name was Guilt.

If only Professor Snape was at his side, Harry knew that he could defeat the monster, and move on. But thanks to Harry, Snape was gone, possibly for ever, was even now lying in St Mungo's, in a deep sleep from which they said he might never awaken. Harry knew this because he had overheard two of the Slytherin prefects discussing it, arguing about who would take over as their Head of House "now old Snape is a vegetable, thanks to that blasted Potter brat!"

Harry was alone in Snape's quarters, whence he had escaped long after his friends thought him safely asleep within the self-imposed solitude of his curtained four-poster bed. Harry sat in his Professor's favourite armchair, curled up within Snape's black robes, which held the scent of the man, a scent that spoke of safety and comfort. Wrapped in his mentor's robes, with his eyes shut tight against the world, Harry could imagine that it had all indeed just been a nightmare. That he would be shaken awake any moment now with a brusque command from the Professor to "quit stalling, child, and get off to bed!"

But it was not a nightmare - it was real. And as tears fell silently down his face, drenching the precious robes that he clutched about him like a security blanket, Harry stared into the flickering firelight and forced himself to relive again, through his own memories and the words of the others who had witnessed it, the dreadful climax of that terrible day.

FLASHBACK

"Help me, Professor! Please! I need you!...I'm frightened!"

"Don't be frightened, child. I will not let anything happen to you" came the calm response. "Tell me, Harry, are you alone? Is there someone with you?"

Harry found that, despite having made the connection with the Professor, it was not becoming any easier to communicate this way. His head was hurting again, he was becoming flushed and exhausted with the effort of maintaining the link with Snape, and he was uncomfortably aware that his captor kept glancing quizzically in his direction, almost as if he knew what Harry was doing. But how could he? Snape's voice was only in Harry's head - wasn't it?

"Can... Can he hear you too?" he whispered inside his mind.

"Who, Harry? Who is with you, child?" came the swift response.

"He says he's Lord... You Know Who" answered Harry, afraid that if he used that name, even in the silence of his own mind, his captor would know. "He was in the book."

"Book? What book was...?" Snape began, then swiftly changed tack. "Are you hurt? Has he harmed you in any way?"

"No...well, only a little. Please - get me out of here, sir!"

Slowly - excruciatingly so, according to Ron and Hermione when they talked to Harry about it later - Snape garnered enough information from the exhausted and frightened Harry to enable the three Professors to come up with a workable plan of attack.

"But what if Harry can't..."

"Enough what ifs, Minerva!" snapped the usually placid Headmaster. "The child is weakening by the moment, and I can only assume that as his strength lessens so Riddle's power increases. We have to act now before we lose him!"

The Weasley children, along with Hermione, were ordered to move to the far end of the corridor. Once there, Percy had drawn his wand, tersely ordering the other children to stand behind him for protection. This statement resulted in a minor tussle with Fred and George, which ended abruptly when Hermione unexpectedly drew her own wand and threatened to hex them both. Shamefaced, the twins had shuffled over to stand behind their older brother, muttering apologies as they went.

Meanwhile, Professor Snape was preparing Harry for what was about to happen - if it worked! Harry was not at all convinced at first that he could do what his Professor wanted him to do, and Snape had been forced to resort to a subtle combination of threats and blandishments to get the child to agree.

"But what if it doesn't work? He'll know what I tried to do, and... and..." Harry was close to tears at the thought of what the older boy, whom his Professors had identified as one Tom Riddle, might do if Harry failed.

"Mr Potter! You WILL do as I say, and you will NOT fail, or when I get my hands on you will discover that the Dark Lord is no match for me when it comes to dealing with disobedient little boys!" his mentor's voice had thundered in his head. "You are without a doubt the most naturally gifted child I have ever had the honour to instruct, and I KNOW you can do this! So stop this nonsense, and obey me AT ONCE!"

Harry was, as always, oddly comforted by his Professor's stern approach, and at Snape's signal he began to count down from one hundred in his head, whilst simultaneously inching his way along the wall, until he reached the spot where, if he remembered correctly after all these hours, the door had originally stood. As he reached the end of his countdown, he pulled himself up to his feet, now standing, or so he hoped, right beside the currently invisible doorway.

On the final count of "three, two, one", Harry pushed himself away from the wall, turned to face it, and shouted "I command thee to appear!"

At once, the wall in front of him started to shimmer, and the door through which he had been dragged earlier that day began to reappear. Simultaneously, Riddle leapt angrily to his feet, reaching out for Harry's wand, only to realise to his chagrin that it was not within his grasp.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Harry watched in horror as the door, whilst still not completely reformed, was suddenly blasted into smithereens, as his Professor burst through, his wand outstretched, his visage incandescent with rage against Harry's tormentor. Snape was flanked to the left by Albus Dumbledore, and to the right by Minerva McGonagall. Snape took one step towards Harry, but as Harry began to move towards him, there was a flash of movement from behind him, as his erstwhile captor made a desperate lunge towards Harry. In that instant, a flash of green light shot from Minerva's wand. She had aimed at Riddle, unarmed and seemingly defenceless as he had appeared, but he moved too fast for her, pulling the unsuspecting Harry in front of him at the last second. As the three Professors looked on in horror, captor and captive alike had been thrown across the floor. There was a sickening thud as they made contact with the far wall.

"Harry! No!" screamed Snape, hurling himself across the room towards them. Throwing himself to the floor beside Harry, he swiftly turned him over onto his back, lowering his head onto Harry's chest to listen for sounds of life. As Minerva flew to his side, Professor Dumbledore made his way towards the older boy.

Looking up from the floor where he had knelt, Albus Dumbledore met with the anguished eyes of his deputy Headmistress and slowly shook his head. "Tom is dead" he intoned gravely. "His neck is broken."

Snape, meanwhile, was focussing all his attention on Harry, who had taken the full blast of McGonagall's curse. The child was not breathing. The distraught Potions Master placed his tremulous fingers to the boy's neck, but was unable to detect a pulse. Without a word, and without a moment's hesitation, he placed his large, white, potion-stained hands gently on the child's chest. As his colleagues watched in awestruck silence, Snape began to mutter something under his breath, and his hands began to glow and shimmer.

"Severus, no!" cried Minerva, as she realised in horror what he was trying to do. She tried to pull his hands away, but Dumbledore stepped forwards and took hold of her, dragging her away.

"Let him be, Min!" he whispered hoarsely, tears beginning to fall down his ruddy cheeks. "It's his choice. Let him try."

Whether encouraged or dismayed by the long silence since their elders had stormed the Room of Requirement, the children had crept slowly down the corridor and now stood huddled in the smashed doorway. Dumbledore turned towards them, and silently beckoned them in. One by one, they filed silently into the room. Hermione found her way once more into the arms of her Head of House, Ron turning for comfort instead to the wise old man he had come to think of as a Grandfather long before he had seen him as his Headmaster. To Percy's surprise, and secret delight, Fred and George turned instinctively towards their older brother, who now stood silently beside his Headmaster, one arm comfortingly around the shoulder of each twin. In silence, the little group watched helplessly as Snape willed his child to live.

The glow that had begun in his hands began to spread across Harry's chest, turning from green, to blue, to silver, as it encompassed his entire body. As they watched, the glow intensified, until they could hardly make out the shape of Harry's body at all. Then there was a gasping noise, as Harry drew a great breath. In that instant, the glow vanished, and Professor Snape slumped to the floor, grey faced and unconscious.

END FLASHBACK

Harry knew now what had happened. Professor Dumbledore had explained it to him afterwards, as Harry lay in the infirmary. Harry had died - albeit briefly. As far as he could understand it, in the moment of Harry's death, whilst his soul was still hovering between this life and the next, it had been drawn back into his body through a powerful spell. A spell so powerful that it had taken almost all of Professor Snape's magic to conjure it. A spell that had drained his Professor to the very core, leaving him so weak that he had almost died himself.

Dumbledore had assured Harry that Professor Snape would be alright in time. That he just needed to rest, in the care of the good doctors at St Mungo's. That he would soon be as good as new. But Harry wasn't fooled - not for a moment. He knew, because he has seen the tears and the worried looks exchanged by his Professors. He knew because nobody would answer his question when he asked "When will Professor Snape be back". And he knew, because he had heard what those boys had said. "Old Snape is a vegetable, thanks to that blasted Potter brat!"

Harry stared mournfully into the fire, absently wiping his nose with the sleeve of his dressing gown. How he wished he could believe what Dumbledore said. That any moment now, his Professor would come back to him, scold him for being out of bed so late, and hold him in his strong arms as he wept.

He was so caught up in his own grief that he didn't hear the door open and close softly behind him. He didn't hear the quiet footsteps crossing the room towards him. The first thing he noticed was the scent, warm and familiar, then a hand, placed gently on his knee. A large, white hand, with long clever fingers. A hand so hard and unyielding when used to administer a well-deserved smack, and yet so gentle and reassuring when offering comfort. As Harry held his breath, the other hand reached out to claim his chin, turning Harry's face slowly and gently, until his emerald green eyes met with smoky grey, and he gazed once more at that stern, beloved countenance.

"What exactly are you doing out of bed at this hour, young man?" came the acerbic remark.

But there was no response given, as the child flung his arms around the man's neck, burying his head against the dark cloth of his chest. In one swift movement Harry was no longer in the armchair. Professor Snape was once more ensconced in his favourite seat, Harry held securely in his lap, his head burrowed against his Professor's chest.

Harry was crying...Silently...But he was not alone anymore.

END OF CHAPTER 18


	19. Atonement

19 : Atonement

"Oh for goodness sake, stop fidgeting, child!"

"I can't help it!"

"Well try!"

"Hmmph!"

"And put that lower lip away – you'll get no sympathy from me, young man!"

Harry gave a hefty sigh, wriggled uncomfortably in his seat once more, and then returned his attention to the blank piece of parchment in front of him.

How was it, he mused, that he had been transformed overnight from tragic hero to naughty little boy? Looking up briefly from his own task, Severus accurately assessed what the child was thinking, and gave a somewhat self-satisfied smirk.

Snape had been appalled to discover, upon his return from St Mungo's, that not only had the child been treated like a wounded hero rather than a disobedient child in need of a firm reminder of the consequences of disobedience, but that he had been left to wallow all alone in a mire of grief and guilt. He had been unable last night to do anything other than comfort the little monster – it was far too late to be holding serious discussions, and in any case the boy had worked himself into such an emotional state that any meaningful words or actions on Snape's part would have been wasted. Instead, he had given in to a somewhat maudlin desire to reassure the child that he was once more at his side, and to ensure that, for the first time in several days, Harry went to sleep with a smile on his face. Consequences could wait til the morning – at which point they would most definitely come crashing down on the unsuspecting brat.

So it was that, when Harry had woken that morning, it was to discover that he was safely ensconced in his own bed in his Professor's quarters – a clear sign that last night had not been a dream. Professor Snape was back! Harry had scrambled out of bed and literally thrown himself down the stairs in search of the man, only to be brought up short as he entered the kitchen with a snapped command to "Get back up those stairs and get washed and dressed, young man. You know better than to present yourself in such a state of undress!"

Stunned into silence, Harry had crept back up the stairs like a whipped puppy dog, and had swiftly completed his usual morning ablutions, taking the added precaution of making his bed. Something had obviously put his Professor in a bad mood this morning, and Harry had enough sense to do nothing that might make the situation any worse. Last time he had ignored the warning signs, he had ended the breakfast hour standing with his nose in the corner!

When Harry entered the kitchen for the second time that morning, in a more quiet and sedate manner, he found his Professor already seated at the table, hidden behind the pages of the Daily Prophet. "Sit down and eat – and don't even think about putting any sugar on that cereal!' came the brusque instructions. Harry slipped silently into his seat, and set about the task of eating his breakfast as inconspicuously as possible. Then the voice spoke again from behind the Daily Prophet.

"After breakfast, you will sit down and write out for me a list of the rules you broke, which led directly to Friday night's debacle. We will then discuss the actions which you should in fact have taken, as well as dealing with the question of your punishment."

Harry listened in stunned silence to this awful pronouncement. Until now, nobody had mentioned the book to him, or how he had come to open it, and certainly there had been no scoldings or the slightest mention of any form of sanctions as a result of what Harry had done. And yet here was Snape, whom he had longed for and prayed for so fervently over the past few days, who had been so close to death as a result of Harry's actions, calmly informing him that it was now time to pay for his misdeeds. It was dreadful, and yet at the same time so very "Snape-like" that Harry found himself oddly relieved in a way. Sitting behind his newspaper, Snape smiled to himself, quietly certain that, by treating Harry in this fashion, he was telling the child that what he had done on Friday, despite the dreadful outcome, was just another piece of naughtiness to be dealt with and then forgotten.

Of course, this fact had been of very little comfort to Harry some half an hour later, when he found himself forced to create that list.

1. Left Great Hall during lunch without purmishen.

2. Skipped study period

3. Went to Professor Snape's kwarters without purmishen

4. Touched two of the books on the forbidin shelf

5. Did stuff that put me and others in danger

As Harry looked sadly down at this fourth point, he knew with dreadful certainty where the discussion he was about to have with his Professor was going to lead.

"Well," began Snape, as he gave Harry's list a cursory glance, "I see we still have a great deal of work to do with your spelling."

He looked up from his seat on the sofa to frown disapprovingly at the nervous child now standing in front of him, biting his lower lip and rubbing the toes of his slipper clad left foot across the carpet in a repetetive swirling motion.

Snape sighed, suddenly weary at the thought of having to go through this process, when all he wanted to do was put the whole sorry business behind him and get on with grading end of term papers and the setting of holiday assignments. Easy stuff, that didn't involve powerful emotions and painful memories. Stuff that wouldn't, if it wasn't handled correctly, have a drastic impact on this child's future well-being. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing he had never gotten involved in this child's life. But he had become involved, inextricably so, and there was no way back from here now. Harry was his responsibility now, and would remain so for many years to come - or so he hoped!

Pulling Harry down to sit beside him on the sofa, Snape turned again to the piece of paper and asked "Why exactly did you leave in the middle of lunch?"

Harry stared down at the floor, unsure what to say. But he knew that his Professor wasn't going to let the question go unanswered, and so after a long silence, Harry whispered "They were being mean... about you. It made me feel mad...and sad, and...oh I don't know! I just didn't want to listen to it anymore, so I left."

Snape was amazed. The child had been distressed because someone was "being mean" about him! Never before had he encountered anyone loyal enough to him to take offence on his behalf... well, except Lily Evans, of course. Unsure how to react to the child's confession of devotion, he decided to put it to one side for now. After all, he reasoned, this is a discussion about acceptable behaviour, not about what the child may or may not feel about him.

"Well," he began, still somewhat hesitantly, "be that as it may, you are well aware that if for any reason a pupil wishes or needs to be excused from the table, he or she must first request the consent of either a Professor or a Prefect. I take it you did neither?"

Harry slowly shook his head.

"A verbal answer, if you please'"

"No, sir!" came the whispered response.

"In future, you will remember that there is no excuse for forgetting your manners, and that mealtimes are not optional. We have talked about your eating habits before, and you know very well that a growing child must receive the correct levels of nutritionally balanced food every day. Do not let me hear of you skipping a meal ever again!"

"But you don't understand!" Harry whispered hoarsely, fighting to keep at bay the tears which were threatening to engulf him. "If I'd stayed there any longer, I reckon I'd of ended up punching someone!"

"And it you had, I would have turned you over my knee and spanked you! " came the stern response.

Snape looked down at the tear-filled emerald eyes, which stared back at him with such trust. He sighed again, clawing his fingers through his hair as he attempted to recast his thoughts.

"You will find, over the years, that there will be many occasions when a conversation to which you are privy causes you distress in one way or another" Snape began again, more calmly, pleased if a little surprised to see that the child was following his every word with intense concentration. "There are many types of people in this world, with many varied opinions on what, or even who, is right or wrong. You cannot agree with all of them. Nor can you force people to your way of thinking."

"But they said mean things... things that were hurtful!"

"There are many terrible injustices in the world, child, and I hope that when you are a man full grown you will fight against them with all your might. But then, as now, you have to choose which battles to fight, Harry – and I can assure you that I am unaffected by the fact that your classmates dislike me. I am their teacher and guide, not their friend, and if they do not like my methods, then that is neither here nor there. What I do demand from them all is obedience, hard work, and that when they speak to me directly, they do so with at least a modicum of respect."

"They call you names..." Harry began again, desperate to make his Professor understand how it made him feel to have to listen to their insults. "They think you're cruel and... and unkind...and... and you're not! You're good, and kind, and you take care of me and...and..." with a great sob, Harry burst into tears, flinging himself against Snape's chest and wrapping his thin little arms tightly around the man's waist.

Snape smiled sadly down at the sobbing child, bringing a hand up to gently massage the mop of messy hair as he replied sadly, "Your loyalty to me is admirable little one, and it honours me greatly to think that you have such faith in me. But I am not a patient man, and I do not tolerate fools gladly. I will not apologise for that – and you must learn to accept that you cannot change that in me. I will never be all the things you want me to be – at least, not to the outside world."

Harry looked up quizzically, his sobs lessening somewhat as he struggled to understand what was being said.

"You are very special to me, Harry" Snape almost whispered, his voice cracking with emotion as he looked down at "his" child, " ... and without my even knowing it, your presence in my life has become a source of great comfort to me. But there are things about me that you do not know... things that I have done and must continue to do... duties that weigh heavily upon me. You are too young to understand much of it, but know this ... I will always do everything in my power to be here for you, to protect you and to guide you, and to provide you with the structure and discipline you need to ensure that you are kept safe, and that you grow up to be the best person you can be."

Harry buried his face once more in his mentor's chest and gave a little sigh. Structure and discipline - these were words he was used to hearing from this man. Most of what he had heard remained a jumble of words, which he would take out and examine later, in the months that followed, as he slowly made sense of it all. What mattered, here and now, was that Professor Snape wanted him, and had promised to take care of him no matter what.

"So then," Snape said, clearing his throat and tapping Harry gently but firmly on the head to get his attention, "perhaps you would like to tell me why you elected to skip your study period, and what exactly you were doing in my quarters?"

Harry gulped down the last of his tears, and released his arms from around Snape's waist, preparing once more to face the consequences of Friday's many crimes.

"Well... You see... I thought..."

"Yes?"

"Well... I wanted to look something up, and..." Harry's voice petered out as Snape's gaze became stormy.

"Look something up? In the forbidden section of my personal library, I suppose?"

"Erm..."

"I see. And this flagrant flouting of a rule I have already had to take you to task over once before had to take place during your study period because...?"

"Erm... Well, I had to do it then because," Harry gulped, then continued in an increasingly small voice "because I knew you wouldn't be there."

"In other words you knew full well that what you were going to do was against the rules, and you did it anyway, making quite sure first that any chance of being caught in the act had been removed?"

This was Professor Snape at his coldest and deadliest, and Harry gave an involuntary shiver before silently nodding his head. A split second later, he found himself examining at extremely close quarters the intricate pattern his toe had earlier rubbed into Snape's carpet.

One extremely thorough spanking later, Harry was once more curled up at his Professor's side, sniffling intermittently and rubbing absently at his throbbing, stinging bottom as Snape calmly informed him that if he ever so much as thought about committing such a flagrant and deceitful act of disobedience again, he would find himself deprived of the benefit of certain key items of clothing before the spanking began. Since Harry was certain that he would never sit comfortably again after this latest dose of discipline Snape style, he gave a little shudder at the thought of how much worse his bum would be stinging right now if his Professor had smacked it bare!

Eventually, the tears had dried, and the unlikely duo had somehow reassured each other that Harry knew he had paid the appropriate price for all his misdeeds, and had been duly forgiven by his Professor. Snape had then calmly instructed his charge to take a seat at the kitchen table, while the Professor got on with marking essays, and begin work on letters of apology to Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall for all the trouble his behaviour had caused.

And so Harry sat, somewhat uncomfortably, at the table, in front of a blank piece of parchment.

"Oh for goodness sake, stop fidgeting, child!"

"I can't help it!"

"Well try!"

"Hmmph!"

END OF CHAPTER 19


	20. Disarmed Part One

Chapter 20 : Disarmed (Part One)

"But why can't I come? It's about me too, isn't it?'

"Because I said "No", Harry, and you should know by now that..."

"Yeah - I know. No means No!"

"Do not interrupt me, young man! And you can put that bottom lip of yours away whilst you're about it."

"I hate it when you say that!"

"And I hate it when you act like a spoilt brat in dire need of an attitude adjustment. So unless you wish to feel my hand you will cease this nonsense at once and return to your common room!"

As Harry turned and left the room, clearly in high dudgeon, Snape gave a sigh and dragged his fingers through his hair in a mixture of relief and guilt. How could it be that one small boy had the power to overset him like this, when he was able to deal with the machinations of the Dark Lord and his forces of evil without turning a hair? He had survived the "crucio" curse on numerous occasions without breaking, but this child only had to get teary-eyed and his defences began to crumble. Parenthood, he decided, was a minefield in which fools were sent to play without as much as a tin hat for protection.

Snape could understand Harry's frustration, although of course he would never acknowledge the fact, since to do so would only give the brat more ammunition to throw at him. The meeting to which the Professor was now heading was the long overdue "debrief" organised by Dumbledore with regard to the recent abortive attempt at a return to power by the Dark Lord. Since Harry had been a key player, the child felt naturally aggrieved that his part in the meeting had been reduced to that of a succinct statement, produced by Snape after several hours of listening to Harry's rambling and somewhat confused account of Friday's events. Copies of the statement had been provided in advance for each of the proposed attendees - all of whom, bar one, were members of the Order of the Phoenix.

In Snape's opinion, the members of the Order were a self-righteous group, and he had always found that being exposed to their sickly sweet goodness en masse made his teeth ache. However, his role, now openly acknowledged by Dumbledore and his minions, as Guardian to the Brat Who Lived To Get On His Nerves dictated that he also be acknowledged as a fully-fledged member of the Order. In the past, he knew, he had been tolerated by the likes of Weasley and Moody purely on the grounds of his role as Dumbledore's spy - and he knew full well that, had it been felt that the spy had outlived his usefulness, then Snape would have been quietly disposed of, and no-one would have grieved for his passing

Striding purposefully down the constantly shifting staircases, and along seemingly endless corridors, the Potions Master found his footsteps beginning to slow and his mind-set becoming less and less certain, as he approached the Room of Requirement, the site of last week's tumultuous and life-changing events. After years of having to disguise and dissemble, Severus realised that he was somewhat unsure how to act now that no such need existed any longer, at least within the confines of the meeting to which he was now making his way.

He would have been the first to admit, even before the dreadful day when he had first fallen into the clutches of the Dark Lord, that he was not an easy person to like. From an early age he had built an emotional wall to protect himself from hurt – first from his own father and later from the likes of Potter and Black. That wall had stood him in good stead throughout his years at Hogwarts, first as a student and later as Dumbledore's puppet.

Two people and two people alone had ever fully breached its defences – a green-eyed witch with hair like flames, and her raven-haired son. Lily's death and the gut-wrenching knowledge that his actions, and his actions alone, had caused the Dread Lord to turn his malevolent eye towards her and her new-born son, had led to the bulwarks of that wall being intensified ten hundred-fold. And yet, despite the depth of its foundations, and its all-encompassing width and breadth, it had been breached again, and so easily, by one small child – Lily's child.

The black-clad figure came to a stuttering halt, inches from the door, unable to move, as he realised the enormity of what he was about to do. His love of history caused him to recall the story of an ancient warrior whose death on a certain day and in certain battle had been foretold by a powerful wizard. Determined to survive the coming battle and disprove the power of the wizard, the warrior had a special cuirass made for him, not of leather as worn by the other warriors but of solid iron, so strong that no sword could pierce it. Confident in his defences, he boarded his ship and headed for the battleground. As the ship approached land, it was caught in a powerful undercurrent, and began to founder. All around him, his leather-clad comrades dived overboard and swam safe to shore, there to do battle with the enemy. As he too dived into the wine-dark sea, he felt the weight of the iron pulling him downwards, and began frantically to tear at the straps which bound the armour in place, but to no avail. As death took him in her all-encompassing embrace, he laughed at the folly of his own arrogance – for it was his own defences which had become his greatest weakness, and given the power of truth to the words of the wizard.

His own defences now lying discarded at his feet, Severus Snape took a deep calming breath, stepped forward and pushed open the door, his head held high.

….

Molly Weasley was a wife and mother first and foremost, and to her way of thinking the safety and well-being of her family must always come first. Her children would be the first to admit that, although it was at their father's hands that they usually received any physical chastisement, it was their mother's displeasure they dreaded more than the sting of the leather-soled size 10 slipper their father kept in the top left-hand drawer of the desk in his study. A spanking, although painful and unpleasant, was over swiftly, and even its uncomfortable after-glow dissipated within a few hours at worst. Not so the disapproval of their mother, which was a palpable sensation, and which could sometimes be felt for days.

The Weasley children still recalled the dreadful summer when Percy, who had just turned 11 and was somewhat arrogantly preparing himself for what he felt sure would be a glittering future as Hogwarts' star pupil, had "borrowed" his mother's wand and had inadvertently set fire to the old barn in which his siblings were playing. Their father had been furious, it was true, and had used his slipper to good effect that evening – the yells of the unfortunate Percy as he received his just desserts could be heard not just by the residents of the Burrow but, as Bill declared at the time, by the entire district. However, despite Percy's obvious remorse, Molly had not felt able to put aside her anger so easily. Each time she looked at her brood she was reminded again how close she had come to losing one or all of them as a result of Percy's folly, and her anger was renewed.

Although he felt that it would do his son no harm if Molly held Percy at arms- length for a day or so, as a further reminder of the extent of his foolishness, Arthur became concerned when, three days after the event, the wall of stony silence which his wife put up whenever Percy was nearby remained very much in evidence. It was at this stage that he sat her down and pointed out how much their son was suffering, how little he was eating, and how worried his siblings were becoming about the way their mother was acting towards him. Instead of making things better, this had made things worse. Molly accused her husband of "taking sides with the children" against her, and the wall she had built was immediately extended to include everyone except Ginny who, at almost 6, was too young to understand anything other than the fact that Mummy was sad, and so had taken to climbing into her lap at every opportunity.

In the end it was Charlie who restored peace to the Burrow. At 15, he was already a quidditch player of outstanding ability, and had been away at an international training camp (paid for by a special bursary from Hogwarts) for part of his summer holiday. Having missed both Percy's incendiary incident and its aftermath, he was appalled, on his return home, to discover the heavy atmosphere of hurt and anger that had settled over his family home like a dense fog. The mortar surrounding the stones of anger and resentment with which Molly had built her defences had been given time to solidify, and the battering ram of her husband's disapproval had forced those defences to be strengthened, not weakened. Slowly but surely, Charlie began to chip away at the wall surrounding his mother, just by sitting beside her, listening, not judging, not advising, not even attempting to hug her, lest this force her to extend her shield against him as well. Eventually, his persistence paid off, and his mother cried out her guilt and distress in her son's arms, before seeking out Percy to reassure him that, no matter what, Mummy would always love him.

Things had apparently returned to normal after that, but Molly knew in the secret depths of her heart that her relationship with Percy had been irrevocably damaged by that dreadful fortnight. She knew she tended to spoil him by way of consolation, and had taken to praising his every achievement almost to excess, which had inflated his natural tendency towards arrogance and pride. His relationship with his younger brothers had also suffered as a result both of their mother's perceived favouritism and Percy's increasing conceitedness.

When Molly has first learnt of Harry's plight, she had been desperate to bring him into her fold, and give him the love and affection that he had been denied all these years. Her anger towards Severus when he had forced to her accept that the danger this might bring upon her own children outweighed her desire to help her late friend's son had been considerable. Setting aside for one moment his history as a Death-Eater – a history which Dumbledore continued to refute against all comers - she already felt animosity towards him, since she felt that his treatment of Fred and George was overly harsh. Her boys were mischievous it was true, but hardly "out of control" as Snape had claimed on several occasions. Add to this her newfound resentment at the way in which he had "snatched poor little Harry away" and her feelings towards the man could hardly be more acrimonious.

The validity of those hostile feelings had taken quite a battering the day of the potions explosion. After all, a harsh unfeeling monster would not have taken her in his arms as Severus did that day, reassuring her that her boys were fine and that everything could soon be put to rights. Molly had thereafter been forced to reassure herself that her reading of the man was correct by reminding herself of how cruelly he had taunted poor Arthur over the matter of paying for the damage done by their sons. However, her certainty had been shaken somewhat, by Charlie's comments in a letter home not long after his visit to Hogwarts that Professor Snape was "doing a fine job taking care of young Harry".

And now, once again, the walls of her conviction had been shaken, this time to their very foundations. The tale that her sons had told of what happened in the Room of Requirement, of how frantically their professor had fought to break his way in to rescue Harry, and of how he had willingly jeopardised his own life to save the child, did not allow for any wriggle room. She had been wrong about him – not just about his treatment of her sons, but also about his suitability to take care of Harry. Did this mean she had also been wrong, all those years ago, to blame him for Lily's death?

As she sat now beside her husband in the Room of Requirement, awaiting Snape's arrival, she knew that her defences were down, and that she was finally ready to give the man a fair chance. Whether he chose to act upon it was entirely up to him.

END OF CHAPTER 20


	21. Disarmed Part Two

Chapter 21 : Disarmed (Part Two)

Remus had been building walls around himself for almost as long as he could remember. At first these had been purely physical. Ever since his fateful encounter with Fenrir Greyback when he was only six years old, he had been afflicted with that terrible condition known euphemistically as Lycanthropy. What this truly meant was that for three days in every lunar month he turned into a vicious killer without pity or remorse. Remorse came later – when he awoke covered in blood which was not his own, and knew with dreadful certainty that once again the wolf within had won, and had claimed another victim. Fortunately, back then, he had never had a true recollection of what he had done when the wolf was in control. All that came to him in the days that followed would be darkly shifting shadows, like half-remembered nightmares, when the feeling of terror remains wrapped around your mind like tentacles of evil long after the facts and faces of the dream have slipped into merciful oblivion.

The emotional barriers had come later - first those forced upon him by his parents, as they found it harder and harder to love the creature their son has become. They did their best to hide it from him - the pity they felt when they were forced to tend to self-inflicted wounds, the revulsion that swept over them on those dreadful mornings when, as they washed away the blood from their son's sweatsoaked body, it became clear that he was unharmed, and that once more they must seek out and bury what was left of his night's prey. But as he grew, as the wolf's hold upon him increased, so too did his detachment from his parents' reactions. A self-defense mechanism all three of them employed to maintain their sanity and sustain their ability to contain their dreadful secret.

Once at Hogwarts, with the physical defences of both Whomping Willow and Shrieking Shack in place, young Lupin had prepared himself for a life of solitude, for how could he risk allowing anyone there to learn his secret? What he had not counted on was falling in love - and such a love as he had never dreamed possible. Just being in the presence of his beloved gave him a strength he had never known before, an inner peace that flowed through him and sustained him though those pain-filled nights of torment. He knew he did not deserve to be loved, and by such a one as this, and yet that fateful morning, when he awoke on the floor of the Shack with his head cradled in those precious arms, gentle hands caressing his dampened hair, steel grey eyes gazing into his, filled not with pity but with awe and wonder, he knew in an instant that his love was returned. Theirs was not a physical love - for their love transcended such things. As long as he lived, as long as they both lived, he knew that never would two souls exist that were so much a part of one another as were the souls of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

Remus was chained up in a cellar that dreadful Halloween night when his world collapsed around him. By the time Dumbledore came to release him, five days had passed as he lay forgotten, near to death from dehydration. He had known instinctively that something had happened to Sirius, for why else would he have failed to come to him, to release him from his self-imposed prison and to offer comfort for pains now passed? It had seemed to him then that it would have been more merciful had Albus simply left him there to die – for how much worse it was for him to live on, knowing that his beloved had betrayed him, had betrayed them all, to the powers of darkness.

Remus had spent the past few years wandering aimlessly around Europe in search of a cure for his condition. Several times he had thought he was close to something, only to have his hopes dashed as yet another "fact" turned out to be mere rumour or superstition. The wall he had once more built around him, sustained by grief and bitterness, ensured that he was left alone just as surely as any cage would have done. At last, all hope gone, he had turned his face towards Hogwarts, and his one-time protector, Albus Dumbledore.

His arrival just over a week ago, a dishevelled wreck of a man with hardly any flesh on his bones and rags on his back where once he had proudly worn the satins and silks lavished upon him by his beloved, had gone almost unnoticed, coinciding as it did with the aftermath of Tom Riddle's attack upon Harry Potter. Until today, his presence in the castle had been revealed only to Madam Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall. Lupin was unsure how many of those currently present knew about what James Potter had termed his "furry little problem" but he knew that one man most certainly did – and that man was Severus Snape. How would his old arch-enemy react when he realised that a potentially lethal creature was once more living at Hogwarts?

All that Remus knew was that Snape alone held a hope for him of some kind – for Snape alone amongst those who knew the truth of his condition also held the power to ameliorate that condition. He alone knew how to brew Wolfsbane, and Remus was prepared to go to any lengths to convince his erstwhile victim to take pity on him, and give him what he craved. He would beg on his hands and knees if that would help – and remembering Severus as he did he was sure that such a sight would please the man greatly. Whatever it took, that is what Remus would do – no pretences, no defences.

…...

He was getting old – old age had crept up upon him when he was not looking, and had now tapped him on the shoulder. He felt his age pressing down upon him, the weight of it forcing his shoulders to sag as he sat there at the head of the table, looking around him at the worried faces of those whom he had summoned to this all-important meeting. Just one more person to come – and that one was at the same time both the most vital and the most volatile.

Albus had known his Potions Professor for many years now – and yet he still remembered with great clarity the first time he had seen him. A pale, silent child, whose smoky grey eyes betrayed a level of understanding and of self-knowledge beyond his years. Smaller by at least a head than all his new classmates, painfully thin, yet standing ramrod straight as he waited his turn to be sorted. So this was the de-facto heir to the Prince millions – Severus Tobias Snape. And yet he looked more like the offspring of poverty stricken parents who had done their best by providing second-hand robes which almost fit, and shirts whose cuffs had only just begun to fray. Of course, the boy's grandfather had so far failed to acknowledge the child, and perhaps Eileen Prince's choice of husband had indeed been a poor one – quite literally, it seemed. Albus had smiled to himself a little at this play on words.

Back then, before Tom's betrayal, so many things had seemed amusing to Albus Dumbledore. Now, of course, his whimsical sense of humour was just a front, a means by which he defended himself from his own guilt, from the overwhelming knowledge that he alone was the cause of so much pain and suffering – just as he alone had been to blame all those years ago at Godric's Hollow when poor Ariana had become the first victim of his arrogant desire to control the fate of others.

Just as he had failed Tom Riddle, so just as surely he had failed both Remus, who sat now to his left, a mere shell of the man he could once have become, and Severus. Poor Severus, who had turned to him in vain for help and comfort when Black and the others had tormented him as a boy; whom he had watched fall ever deeper in love with the power of the Dark Arts; who had turned to Tom not out of belief in what he stood for but out of desperation to be wanted, to be needed by someone, anyone, in a world where nobody had ever made him feel that he mattered. He had betrayed Severus just as surely as Black had betrayed Lily and James Potter, and for no other reason than that he had not paid attention to the boy's cries for help, for understanding, for someone to stand between him and the dark forces which threatened to overwhelm him.

Albus knew that, whatever Minerva might think, it was not he who had saved Severus from the hands of Tom Riddle – it was Severus himself. That night, when the young man had crawled into his office, broken and bloody, it had been at his own instigation. He had chosen to return to Albus, to give him one last chance to be his saviour. And how had he been repaid for his courage? He had been forced into a life of lies and deceit – turned into Dumbledore's own creature just as surely as Tom had tried to do. With Lily's death had come the chance to pull Severus even tighter into his controlling hands, to use his guilt to obtain from him a solemn vow to protect Harry Potter by any means necessary. A vow which last week had almost cost Severus his very life.

Manipulation of others had always seemed so entertaining when he was young – now he was old, and the souls of those he had destroyed as he played his game were lining up before him as he lay awake at night, gazing reproachfully at him. Yet the face that appeared before him more than any other was no longer that of his sweet sister Ariana, but that of Severus Snape. But Severus still lived – so perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps if he released Severus from his power, if he revealed to him the truth that he had kept hidden all these years, if he finally let down all his defences, the past would be forgiven him and he could finally learn to forgive himself.

END OF CHAPTER 21


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